The Mutant Escort Service
by Pandiichan
Summary: AU. Raven had ordered him an escort for the day. Charles decided he could suffer through it. He just didn't expect to get attached to the man. Or worry for him when other mutant escorts started turning up dead. Escorting WAS risky, dirty business. Cherik.
1. Chapter 1

The Mutant Escort Service

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**AN: **I'm alive! And I have another AU Cherik idea! Yay! For those of you who want to know, concerning my earlier Cherik ideas, I went by the reviews to the oneshots versus the profile poll because so few took it. After I beat this plot bunny _My Muse _will be written (the rock star x columnist one).

This story just _had _to be written because it wouldn't leave me alone! I couldn't get it out of my head!

**Warning: **This story is considered and is written to be Mature so may reference adult themes and situations. Charles is a human, Erik is a mutant, and this story is set in the modern day period. The main couple is Charles/Erik with hints of Erik/Raven, Destiny/Raven, Hank/Sparkle and Alex/Sean. Ages and backstories as presented or hinted at in _X-Men: First Class _may be altered.

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Chapter One: The Ad

At the age of twenty-four Charles Xavier was well-versed in the subtle nudges women could use to direct men's lives. Or, in Raven's case, the not-so-subtle hints left behind to contaminate the general cleanliness of their Westchester home. He was constantly bustling behind his twenty-two year old sister in effort to keep her from leaving her mark on every room – be it a skewed rug, abandoned glass, or hastily deposited pair of shoes. Today was no different, and the offending object was a thick book. One look suggested it could be a textbook, and Charles might have believed it if Raven was as half as studious as he chose to be, but the book was far too thick and much too yellow to be a textbook.

It was, in actuality, a phonebook. In an age where smartphones could conjure webpages via the verbal request, Charles couldn't imagine why she'd left it out. Their Westchester home was perfectly hemmed by lush expanses of tended green grass, the boundaries marked by clusters of pine trees. Even with the pine trees, reception was immaculate, and that logic spurred further curiosity in the eldest Xavier.

What on earth was Raven up to now?

"Good lord!" exclaimed Charles as he jumped back from the innocent book, carding a hand through his glossy chestnut locks in effort to calm his mind. Had he really just seen that? What a scandal! Thank _god _Sharon and Kurt had passed away some time ago, or there would be hell to pay in the Xavier household. Time and time again Raven teased him about his stuffy English upbringing, and joked about soiling it, but it seemed that she was actually setting a plan in motion to do so.

At the bottom right corner of the third 'M-U' page was an advertisement for The Mutant Escort Service. Despite the photo lacking color Charles could recall from his scarred, surprised mind that the woman was fair-haired and fair-skinned with sultry eyes. The man opposite of her, taking up the left corner of the ad, was tall and lean. His shoulders were broad, and his slim neck brought out the sharp, rugged shape of his face. Charles couldn't remember much else; even his allegedly brilliant mind was prone to lapses – especially in startle, and he received quite a fright at the thought of his sister buying into such a seedy pleasure business, regardless of the occasion.

What would _she _need an escort for, anyways? Raven could be anyone she wanted, and easily get anyone she wanted. The ease in which she could perform either task had Charles on his toes. It caused the young genetics professor a great deal of stress; balancing arduous speeches and studies while keeping an eye on his perfectly adult, perfectly hormonal, perfectly irrational and beautiful sister was taxing. Her low, gleeful giggle echoed in the foyer and Charles rewarded her with an indignant sniff.

No, she hadn't given him a heart attack. No, he didn't want to burn the phone book and try to perform his own lobotomy. "Did you get my message?" teased Raven as she breezed happily to the tiny cherry wood table holding a vase of flowers and the accursed phonebook.

"Yes but you'd better explain!" demanded Charles huffily. Often times Raven called him an 'old fart' and in this case he really felt like one. That seemed to be the only real way to explain how his heart threatened to fail and cripple on the spot. She would be the death of him, thought Charles. "I know you're not exactly happy with your waitressing job but I will _not _allow you to join this organization. There are much better, _safer _things for you to do Raven." assured Charles, casting his blue eyes back and forth in a decoding tick as he stared into her disguised blue-green eyes.

Raven rolled her eyes. "Jumping to conclusions just like the rest of your kind," mumbled Raven as she finally fixed in the earring that had eluding her lobe. Charles always swallowed thickly at that; it reminded him that they were different. As human as Raven looked, she was far from that. She was a mutant, and, frankly, Charles was surprised they were so attached to one another because Raven certainly hadn't like humans when he'd first found her.

Though she meant the statement with no real weight or negative connotation, it still made Charles feel bad. He was reminded of how painfully _human _he was in relation to her. And, despite his immense intelligence, he would never really comprehend how mutants viewed the society, and "his kind". Unlike most of "his kind" Charles had seemingly unending empathy, and had offered Raven a chance to rest her feet when he'd caught her trying to raid his fridge when they were teens. That act of kindness began to defrost Raven's biased heart, and, over the years, Charles watched her mood improve as his generosity continued.

They were like siblings now, attached at the hip. She was as much his guardian as he was hers. As a mutant, Raven trusted very few people. Charles was honored to have earned her trust and took her _interesting _personality with a grain of salt since he'd spent much of his childhood before her very much alone. Raven was the youngest one, primarily for her shenanigans, and then for her age.

Only she would do something like leave a phonebook open to an escort company.

Mutant Escort Service, The

_"Who to call when you want an unnaturally good time."_

_.com/datenight_

_CALL TOLL FREE: 1 (855) 438-2591_

The tagline was very provocative. Charles was no saint, but even he believed in subtlety. There was simply a level of politeness that must be kept, but this ad seemed to disagree. It oozed nothing but sex appeal and temptation. "Well," Charles brain started to work again as he slammed the book shut and the man and woman disappeared in a whisper of yellow pages, "if it isn't something you consider pursuing – thank god – then what's it for?"

"For you," replied Raven simply. It scared her how stupid Charles could be, especially when his office area touted graduation from Oxford at the top of his class and several awards for various papers on genetic research.

"I don't think I need an escort for anything, thank you." a bit mortified, Charles started down the hall to his study. Distractions popped up immediately in his mind, and for that Charles was grateful. If he looked busy Raven would lose interest in this whole business and eventually it would go away. He didn't have _time _to go out anyways. Much less with mutants; it was his understanding that most of them weren't receptive to helpful, normal human beings.

To date he'd only met one other, and that was Hank McCoy. They'd talked about doing a few papers together when award ceremonies kept drawing them into close quarters. Charles rather hoped Raven would date the young man, since he was in her age range, but Raven was a bit too free-spirited for him, it seemed. And it really was a shame, because Hank, like Raven had been a mutant from birth. He'd recently undergone a secondary mutation that gave him deep, silky blue fur but Raven insisted on regarding him as a friend.

Charles felt lost. If Hank, who had a good head on his shoulders, couldn't court his sister, who could? She was bound to get into trouble, and Charles would rather not see that happen. And it was happening despite him, apparently, because that ad for The Mutant Escort Service seemed like nothing _but _trouble. "I _am _capable of procuring a date on my own, you know." In the safety of his study, surrounded by leather-bound texts and several piles of paper, Charles contorted his porcelain face into something intense and intelligent in hopes that Raven would abandon her position at his work desk.

"I didn't say you couldn't," Raven pointed out, crossing her arms sassily across her chest. "I just get worried about you when you do these speeches." She admitted, frowning deeply at him. Charles, the bleeding heart that he was, didn't see any real danger in trying to promote a friendly relationship between mutants and humans. If he did, it didn't stop him from insisting that mutants shouldn't be a stigma and could actually benefit normal humans and nearly all companies on the planet. That, of course, was met with the unfriendly assumption that mutants would steal the jobs of honest, normal, hard-working people through unnatural means.

Those stubborn opinions and not-totally-sound suspicions created the hostile environment Charles chose to throw himself into on a daily basis. Raven honestly couldn't see the point in it. As a mutant, and a woman, she knew that an agreement between what had scientifically been termed _Homo sapien _and _Homo sapien superior_ could never be met. Like anything, mutants would have their enemies, and at the moment enemies far outnumbered the allies. The Mutant Escort Service had been founded by a mutant, Sebastian Shaw, with the idea that mutants could work and prove their superiority by providing an interesting date night.

Raven preferred to think that Shaw setting this up also granted an opportunity for mutants to handle themselves politely, much to the ire of the public. And, in some cases – like her brother – this service could be used as a safety measure. One of the members could protect her brother when she couldn't, and that would be strongly needed since she was looking for a job better than waitressing. Since Charles was determined to lecture on behalf of _Homo sapien superior _until he dug past _Homo sapien_'s natural reactions of feeling threatened and hateful, Raven knew more help was needed to protect him. Today was no different, and Raven's first venture into The Mutant Escort Service would happen in thirty minutes.

Whether Charles liked it or not, he was going to have a chaperone during his Bard university lecture. Despite her beloved adopted brother being a human, Raven hardly trusted the rest of his kind. She'd seen too many cases of humans killing their own, anyways, and that left her extremely fearful for her older brother. Charles was a classic example of that naive, hopeful light that was too often snuffed by the cruel outside world. Raven refused to let her brother become a statistic, and the monthly fee for the access to the website was a drop in the bucket compared to the Xavier fortune.

Not only that, but Shaw was a businessman and kept his prices reasonable to attract more customers. The website catered to practically any client imaginable: rich, poor, first-time visitors, regulars, bisexuals, gays, lesbians, transgendered, transsexual, old, young, and straight men and women. She even noted – with extreme pride, seeing as how _all _of the escorts were mutant and the website had been made by a mutant – that all ethnic groups were equally represented. On the homepage, colored photos of the most popular escorts were displayed. That is where she found Erik Lehnsherr.

Little information was given about him upfront – Shaw had to find a reason for people to give him money, after all – but Raven noted with mild interest that he left his sexuality blank. Maybe he didn't know, she mused, because sometimes, she didn't. There wasn't necessarily a _fear _of telling Charles she might be a lesbian, not when she was beginning to think he'd be chasing men since the unintelligent bar trash was boring him. She was more or less stressed at the idea of being a lesbian mutant earning another notch in her belt for the unkindly society Charles tried to protect her from. Aside from that, she would have to be honest with herself, which was the hardest part amidst all the confusion.

"Don't worry about me; I have my material memorized so the lecture should go smoothly." Charles smiled, wiping ink from his hands. His speech notes were successfully edited and he spared Raven another glance as he took a break from absorbing them. His mind worked best when he briefly analyzed things, and Charles loved the feeling of being able to drink the information in. Sometimes he felt like his brain just _overflowed _with the things he'd easily memorized, and one day he feared his brain would grow so crowded that he would accidentally foist his precious knowledge on an unsuspecting mind. The idea of using someone else's brain as a storage bin of sorts, or that he could connect his mind with another person's, was enough to make him laugh…until he met Raven of course.

Raven gave him hope. Raven was the fuel driving all of his endeavors. If she could change into anyone she pleased, then Charles envisioned boundless possibilities for other mutants. And boundless benefits for the future of _Homo sapien _if they could coincide.

"It's not you I'm worried about – well, it is. Your _audience _worries me." confessed Raven.

"Well, worry not, because I'm prepared. No harm shall befall me," jested Charles as he organized several papers into a professional portfolio and made sure his flash drive was safely cradled in his breast pocket before walking Raven out of the room.

"I know," beamed Raven cheerily, batting her eyelashes at him. Charles chuckled half-heartedly, noting her quick change of mood. He'd known his sister long enough to know that she didn't give up easily. No, this didn't smell right at all.

"If you're going out for another round of job hunting, _please _call me. Or send me one of those silly little texts, preferably by the hour so I know you're alright, are we clear?"

"Sometimes I swear _you _should've been a mutant. I think you'd make a really good telepath!" Laughed Raven. Charles had only heard her complain about the local tavern for three weeks, so she could rest easy that he wasn't displaying any late-blooming telepathic abilities. He kissed the top of her head, pulling away as the doorbell rang.

"Oh Raven, tell me you didn't-!" dreaded Charles as it finally clicked. Raven could play people like a natural, and he was hoping that this whole mutant escort business had been a ruse. She attempted some coy purr as Charles cracked the door open to see just _who _was at his doorstep.

"Is this the Xavier household?" inquired a tall man dressed fittingly in a black turtleneck, dark gray jeans, and polished black shoes. He pulled the sunglasses from his eyes with the fluidity of a band conductor, but Charles felt like he'd been shot when he saw the blue of his eyes. _His _eyes were blue but this man's were _stunning _as they pierced him with flecks of gray and left him helplessly afloat in a dark blue sea.

"Yes, but just a moment please. Could you excuse me for a tick?" Charles gushed as eloquently as possible in his flustered state. Raven better be happy he wasn't a telepath or she'd run around for the next _month _thinking that she was a severely retarded, constipated donkey! He dipped his head, showcasing thick brunette hair that gleamed in the sunlight.

* * *

"Ah, the plight of the first timers…" Erik mused dryly, amusedly as sounds of shuffling feet and slight bickering drew away from the door. Thankfully, his client didn't hear that or he might not have a job. Well, he had already been paid to escort Charles Xavier to his event today by the client, Raven Darkholme-Xavier, but offending either of them would decrease the chance of repeat business. In his five years of working with The Mutant Escort Service, Erik could say this was one of the first times he'd been paid and invited to accompany a _man _at the request of a _woman_. He found it rather curious but amusing.

In the initial booking, Erik learned a bit about both Xaviers as nothing but a courtesy. Raven was the more outgoing one and Charles was exceptionally quiet. Most of the time, fighting for mutant rights seemed to be his biggest and easiest button to push. Erik wasn't sure how to feel about that – people didn't just _get up _and decide to defend the rights of a genetically better class. Of a class they should logically fear.

He determined that Charles Xavier was incredibly stupid or had a noble motive. At first glance, neither he nor his sister looked to be a mutant, but he didn't, either, so Erik couldn't judge. Raven had confided in him, anyways, that she was the mutant one and Charles was not. It led Erik to think that Charles was pursing the dangerous avenues of shaping resistant minds for the sake of his sister, which he decided to admire. Few people, especially in his life, would step out of their comfort zone to defend something so abhorred like a mutant.

To his recollection, his mother was the only one that had done so. God rest her soul, and in honor of her Erik promised to give Charles Xavier a chance. If they didn't get along, they could part at this experience and leave it at that. Finally, the wide wood doors swung open and Charles zipped out, obviously flushed. Raven descended the front steps with a slight skip, and Erik knew she'd won whatever argument they'd had.

"Sorry about that," apologized Charles with a bashful smile. "I…uh…that is, this wasn't—"

"People have their reasons," consoled Erik in the nicest tone he could muster. He didn't think it sounded nice; to him it still sounded like gravel and boredom. Erik wasn't used to comforting people, anyways, which made the exchange even odder. "I'm Erik Lehnsherr, if you haven't been told, and today I'm here for you."

"So I understand," Charles combed out his chestnut locks as he pursed his lips and finally decided that Raven had won this round. According to her, Erik had already been paid and couldn't leave without escorting him to the event, as per his contract with the company. "Charles Xavier," the British man extended his hand, "but I take it you already know that."

"Yes I do, but I don't know who will be driving to this event of yours." Erik tried to steer the conversation into something more relaxed. There were a few telepaths in The Mutant Escort Service, but Erik wasn't one of them. He didn't need to be; Charles' hesitation was quite obvious with his doe-like blue eyes and taut, fair skin. His blanched state called attention to his obnoxiously red lips and Erik briefly wondered if his sister had applied lipstick to them as some sort of joke or ritual. Charles Xavier was quite the curious human being, in Erik's mind.

"I can," offered Charles, not entirely used to the idea of having a man in his car. Well, he was, just not _this _man because Erik Lehnsherr was a stranger. A partially tanned stranger with intense blue eyes, but a stranger all the same. Trying to imagine Erik as one of his old Oxford buddies, to make the idea of sitting in the car – in close quarters – with a stranger wasn't working.

"Or I can. You could review that folder—"

"My presentation." Corrected Charles idly. He was used to Raven purposefully misnaming his works, and it felt like nothing to defend it now. Until he remembered that he wasn't with Raven, of course.

"Right…" Erik resisted the urge to wedge his hands into his pockets, mostly because he wasn't a teenager anymore and escorts were supposed to look composed. "Driving the vehicle would allow me better control of my mutation."

"Pardon?" what kind of mutation required a car? Or, better yet, what kind of mutation was enhanced by a car? The pondering scientist in him was intrigued.

"I control metal, I thought she told you." Erik demonstrated his ability by opening the doors of a black Nissan Mirca and rearranging the seats, mostly adjusting the driver's seat to accommodate his long legs and taller form.

"No," Charles shook her head, excited by the sight, "perhaps she wanted us to have something to talk about. That is _fascinating! _What else can you do?"

"Manipulate anything with a trace of metal," explained Erik smoothly, curtly. He was used to women fawning over him for his looks, and making men hate him for his ability to piss them off and cause the women to giggle. Praise for his power was a new one. It felt odd to have it appreciated when people sneered at him for it. Taking pride in all of those private practices he executed in his free time, Erik pushed his powers further by picking out the presence of the car keys and lifting them from Charles' person while safely locking up his large house.

The keys preceded them to the car, and Charles shut the door lightly, transfixed on the way his keys stood up and delicately moved until the proper one was placed into the ignition. He jumped at the forceful slam of his door and flushed. Charles wasn't used to being surprised. "Don't need you falling out." Erik mumbled, mostly to the steering wheel as Charles fastened his belt over his torso.

"Right…" Charles snuggled into his seat and cleared his throat. Suddenly the material for his usual lecture looked very interesting.

"Where is this lecture?" Erik felt alive and awake with the thrum of the car's many metal pieces beneath his fingers. A muffled competitiveness to outdo the other driver's on the road presented itself, and he quashed the idea. Charles needed to arrive safely, and it was never good to scare a client. Because Raven wasn't sure about how well this would work, she'd paid in advance, and Erik would fulfill his duties like he hadn't been paid at all. Tricking his mind into thinking like that was one of the few control mechanism he'd have in the face of the people Charles braved.

Raven was quick to mention the crowds could get disrespectful quickly. As he continued driving towards Bard, Erik considered pinning down any guests Charles could acquire. Then they'd _have _to listen. It might earn him some brownie points with Xavier, at least. He imagined getting paid attention to, being taken seriously, delighted the man to no end because he seemed very quiet and considerate.

"Bard university, in the auditorium where the orientation is usually held. It's open to speeches since the time for orientation's passed. Mutanism is a hot issue so, complaints or not, they like to schedule me to speak."

"Any particular reason?" Erik tried not to sound blunt but _what _was so appealing about Charles Xavier? He could see him winning the women over with his English accent, maybe, but what about the men? Erik ventured that, in the right light, Charles could look a bit feminine. It was those damn red, red lips that doomed his masculinity.

"I'm a professor of genetics," replied Charles politely, prepared for disbelief. He _was_ rather young to receive such a title. Erik's powers overrode his instinct to stop the car as he, instead, switched lanes to make getting to Bard easier. This man was a professor of genetics? Charles was _only _four years his junior!

Ridiculous, snorted Erik to himself. Talented, but ridiculous.

Erik didn't realize how short Charles was in comparison to him until they were fighting the students to get to the pre-arranged room where he would be accompanying Charles. His British niceties echoed in the dully buzzing hallways and acted as a marker, but Erik was thankful for his tall height. It was the only thing that gave him certainty concerning Charles' location. Several women passed him shy, flirty glances but Erik cut determinedly through the bodies as Charles vanished into the auditorium and mumbled quietly to himself about the setup. He watched the man, looking suspiciously set to lecture in his canary-yellow cardigan, long-sleeved white shirt, and caramel-gray pants, dart experimentally between the rows, adjusting a chair here and there.

Clearly Charles had a touch of OCD.

"Can you hear me?" Charles' voice echoed from the stage as the technical workers assisted him with the clip-on microphone and finagled with the settings. Erik nodded in confirmation. Because Raven specifically asked him to protect Charles, Erik refused to sit at the back of the room. Charles' surprised face greeted him as he stole a chair to sit off to the side of the stage steps.

"Thank you for the preparation, chaps." Charles was sending off the technically-endowed with a big smile.

"It's your funeral," Erik heard one mutter as he collected superfluous equipment like extra speakers and amplifiers. Whether or not Charles heard that, Erik didn't know. He seemed oblivious and excited, somewhat childish as the lecture drew nearer. Just because he was entrusted to protect Charles, and the comment could harm his sensitive heart – Raven also warned him about _that_, too, as well as his pouty, reserved mood when something was amiss – he gently pulled on the metal in the speaker, exerting enough force to stall the quiet push of the heavy carts and trip the young men.

Satisfaction achieved.

"_Really_, Erik?" Charles pinned him with those blue eyes and folded his arms across his chest in response. A man, let alone a _human_, wouldn't make him feel ashamed of the way he handled things. "Was that necessary?"

"Was _what _necessary?"

"Oh you're terrible."

"Actually, I've been told I'm quite good."

"There _are_ things I don't need to know about you, you know."

"I was talking about the control of my ability." Erik turned to look at Charles and tried not to smirk when Charles blushed. Raven never told him that Charles was a closet pervert. However, people had told him that he looked like a shark when he smiled. He wasn't necessarily self-conscious; he just didn't want to scare the younger man finally showing signs of stage fright as he paced, flexed his hands, and mumbled softly into the microphone as students trickled in. His confidence firmed up as he began to speak, and Erik tried to focus on the British voice echoing around the room as students filed in and their faces ranged from intrigued to impish.

This was going to be a long event, he thought.

It was.

Erik utilized every iota of control in order to keep the students chairs from shaking. Judging by the booing, impassioned remarks trying to derail Charles' insistent logic, and barrage of trail mix coming from the center of the sea of chairs, Erik gathered that revealing his mutant status would be unwise. He'd hate to lose his client and dip into his personal savings to bail himself out of jail in the same day. He had to admire Charles for his persistence; the man continued despite the obnoxious booing and people who chose to stand up and blatantly fluster him. It was like watching a bunch of rowdy children fight with a nice daycare worker, but Charles, like that hypothetical daycare worker, had endless patience.

He ignored the rowdy students in the full, and that probably agitated them more than his speech. "Thank you for your time today, and though you may not _appreciate _the idea of mutants being integrated without prejudice into society, I urge you think about it. A mutant could save your life one day."

"Yeah right!"

"Whatever!"

"They wouldn't want to save my life, they'd end it!"

Only because every single one of you in this room is obnoxious, Erik thought. Charles walked calmly off stage, unclipping the microphone and handing it to a nearby man with a shirt emblazoned with the Bard university initials. Erik's head pounded with frustration and caution as the students left the room complaining loudly. Aside from being impudent little brats, too many of them were staying behind for him to like. Raven would kill him if Charles got jumped, and though she was neglectful to add the detail, Erik had learned the Xaviers had a substantial fortune.

If not for his looks, Charles Xavier could be apprehended for his money. The motive of these listeners was unclear, and Erik restrained himself from throwing his hand out as he called the metal of Charles' watch to him. Led by a light pull, a heavy vibrating sensation, Charles found himself drawn to Erik Lehnsherr. Being "drawn" to someone always seemed a bit ridiculous to the young geneticist – the term was too fanciful and far too loaded – but Erik was quickly proving that phrase could be taken seriously. He fell in step beside Erik, the observe in him feeling the watch pull his arm towards the right flank of the other man as they rushed out of the room towards the parking lot.

" 'A mutant could save your life one day'. Well, I did so there's no _could _about it. Not for you." Erik teased, trying his best at poking fun at Charles as he locked the car doors and pulled out of the parking lot. Raven said he was easy to fluster, and Erik prided himself on being able to turn Charles' cheeks a nice scarlet color.

"I think you're paranoid. I wasn't in any real danger."

"_You _may not think so, but you're not looking at it from the outside like I was." Erik pointed out. From his seat just off to the side of the stage, he realized trail mix could be the beginning of things thrown at Charles Xavier. Next time it could be a drink, or something more lethal like a knife.

"Regardless, the event is over so feel free to return to the manor and go about your business – whatever it may be." Charles invited, reaching for his phone to see if Raven texted him like he asked. She had, several times, and appeared to snag other part-time offers at better restaurants though nothing overly-impressive. Either way, she was still a waitress, much to her displeasure. Charles was thankful she'd be home by the time they returned; Erik would be gone and he could continue to lecture her on why he didn't need an escort. And that it was ridiculous that he'd been given a _male _escort.

Raven's defense was that a female escort was likely to steal some of his family money, but Charles wasn't totally convinced. He honestly thought that Raven was tired of him perusing the bars for women and threw a man at him instead. Erik may be a good looking man, but Charles had never really gone outside of women before. The thirty minute drive was relatively quiet until Charles asked Erik what he thought about his presentation, then the stoic Erik Lehnsherr came alive. His voice was calm and direct but his words were very venomous and sharp, and Charles could tell Erik didn't like the way his audience had responded.

Charles attempted to talk him down through logic and calm, but Erik wouldn't have it. With a big smile, Charles realized that Erik was a handful, too. A bit like Raven in a few ways, mostly the way he argued so adamantly and insisted that he was doing unwise, dangerous things crusading for mutant rights. He was learning a lot about the man driving his vehicle, and found that Erik could get chatty and determined but could reign himself in. He was sharp, and brilliant, but could curb his tenacity with grace and sensibility.

Erik didn't necessarily seem like a "people" person, but Charles imagined he did well in the escort business. Raven was standing excitedly at the end of the drive when they arrived. Charles stepped out, and Erik handed him the keys as the car doors shut of their own accord.

"So, how was it?" she asked, looking like she could skip. Her deviousness had no end, Charles decided. Raven greeted them only to check the fruits of her mischievous labor and nothing more.

"They threw trail mix at him." groused Erik as Charles absently brushed himself to dislodge any pieces. Raven's happy smile wilted, and her grew dark and tense. Damn humans!

"_One _person threw trail mix at me and, at the very least, they listened." Charles cut Erik off before he could say anything else to upset his sister. There _were _things she didn't need to know.

"Hank called; he left a message about a paper." Raven told her brother. Whether it was a ploy to get him away from the two so they could further discuss the disappointments involved in his event, he didn't know. Charles would give Hank a call, though, because they had been talking about writing a paper together and the call could be important.

"I should go see what that's about, then. Erik, thank you for today. Sorry Raven had to drag you out unnecessarily."

"It wasn't 'unnecessarily'. This time it was trail mix, Charles. Next time, it could be something worse." cautioned Erik as he slipped his sunglasses on.

"Oh honestly, the two of you are _quite _the pair," mused Charles, "both cynical and paranoid."

"Paranoid about your safety," Raven retorted, scooping her brother together in a hug. Erik was right; it started with trail mix and could easily get worse! She couldn't imagine life without Charles after being with him for so long.

"Yes, yes, I know, now release me. I have a phone call to make." Charles started to fight Raven off lightly as she squeezed him tighter on purpose. Erik gave a small snort – was that his _amused _noise, Charles wondered? – and Charles finally broke free. Raven smiled innocently at him as he fixed his collar and started inside.

"Anything else happen?" Raven pressed as Charles faded away inside at last.

"Nope. I got him out of there as soon as he was done speaking."

"Good." Erik felt like he was being evaluated by Raven's blue eyes. She exposed her true yellow eyes only for him, as a sign of trust and as the smallest, unspoken warning. He wasn't the only mutant in the world, and if something happened to her brother, something unusual, she would come looking for answers. Erik had a high recommendation rate, though, so she doubt he'd do anything rash to his clients, wealthy or not. "Then you did your job."

"My job is to be an escort," Erik told her, "_that _man needs a babysitter. He's the only human I know that wants to run at people with open arms for no reason." He shook his head disappointedly. It wasn't a bad thing – okay, maybe it was. It could get him killed! – but it was very rare. And incredibly stupid, just like him standing up on stage to finish his lecture despite hurled trail mix and booing. Raven laughed good-naturedly, making Erik feel a little bit better about his brutal honesty.

"Then I guess you won't mind overseeing him again, since you're aware of his personality?"

"I can…arrange it, I suppose. Here's my card." Erik slipped a thin square out of his pocket and opened the protector long enough to pull out one card. It had a link to his personal page on the website and number for his company phone.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Lehnsherr."

"You too, Ms. Xavier." He shook her hand as a courtesy and her yellow eyes vanished behind blue ones.

"He's presenting a paper next week at the library," Raven divulged as Erik began climbing into his car. The mutant shut his door, rolled the window down, and paused before reaching for his seatbelt. Was that a warning that he'd be employed again?

Just what was he getting into with this family?


	2. Chapter 2

The Mutant Escort Service

**AN: **Thanks to Extra-Fried-Noodles for the review! I loved the review; it was very encouraging! I hope you guys let me know how I'm doing because this Cherik story is going to be largely different from my previous one and I'm nervous about the pace/other couples that will contribute to Charles' and Erik's relationship.

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aerorolo, Extra-Fried-Noodles, koriandr831, KuroXTenshi, MakeUsMarble, mykkila09, oficialyobsessed, Saint of Dragons, Skotadi, Suppie-chan the III, and theauthor94 put this story on their alert list. Sorry if I missed any of you! I'm sure there's more to add to the list since I first started writing this. Let me know how I'm doing! As far as I know Waylon street doesn't really exist – I'm just making it up for the café. Because it took me forever to update, I made this one extra-long!

* * *

Chapter Two: Quiet, Please!

_Charles,_

_Hopefully the way I handled things didn't upset you. You and I couldn't be more different, but I admire your insistency on helping mutants. Few people are willing to do that, especially when society would rather shed first blood than accept us. I'm not really good with niceties, but I hope your library presentation goes well. Raven invited me to it, but I wasn't sure if I should attend – you seemed pretty nervous when we first met and I don't want you to feel obligated to include me, or startled._

_The service comes with a customary "end event" e-mail and I'm fulfilling the requirement. Although…it doesn't really feel like a requirement. I hope I'm not being blunt, but I feel that I am. Usually I'm very vague and polite in these messages to ensure return business but you seem like someone I can be honest with, especially since you're the type of person who puts everything on the table like you do for your sister and the hopes of mutants elsewhere._

_In short, may your library visit go well. If I can finish my previous engagement in time, I can drop by if you want. Raven may not want me to tell you this, but she requested I come if extra protection was needed. She really means the best, so I hope you're not furious because, unfortunately, you DO need protection._

_All the best,_

_Erik_

Charles found an e-mail waiting from Erik in his inbox when he turned on his laptop. It came as a surprise and he chuckled at the prose that was undoubtedly Erik. Flattery came regularly for Charles but it meant more coming from Erik, maybe because he came off as so reserved and stoic. His presentation would happen a little after one in the afternoon, meaning people would be sated with their stomachs full of digesting food as he spoke. With roughly two and a half hours on his hands, Charles figured he could send an e-mail back.

_Erik,_

_I wasn't necessarily upset, but I wasn't totally amused. Your power is incredible and I think you could do far more good with it than the mischief you prefer…even if the mischief in question was meant in a nice way. Thank you for admiring me, I suppose. That isn't something I hear every day on the subject of mutants; I do it because I believe society is wrong to judge Raven. Society is wrong to judge you, too, regardless of profession._

_Admittedly, I was nervous because you don't really exude anything amiable, though you are very composed and professional. I don't like strangers, really, and it's no fault of yours. The e-mail is nice, and no you're not being blunt. Raven tells me all the time that I'm the "special kind of smart" that requires bluntness once in a while, so it's alright. Some call that openness 'naiveté', but I'm glad you trust me because I could always use another friend, especially with the way my opinions rub other people. _

_Feel free to drop by if you want; I'll be explaining a paper on the sensitivity of mutant genes to socioemotional triggers. It doesn't surprise me that Raven asked you along; a fellow geneticist friend of mine, Hank McCoy, will be joining the crowd so between the three of you I should be well protected. Again, you're a delight but you're terribly paranoid. Thank you for the concern._

_Hope to see you there,_

_Charles_

Only after he hit 'send', and the message was on its way to Erik's personal account in the Mutant Escort Service site, did Charles feel like he should've really analyzed the message. He felt like he prattled too much and the 'hope to see you there' sendoff made him feel like a giddy young girl waiting for a second date. "Good heavens," laughed Charles to himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose and laid his head on the kitchen table where he was multitasking handling a cup of earl gray and checking his e-mail, "mustn't think like that."

And he shouldn't, because if he did he would be agreeing that there were parts of Erik Lehnsherr that were beautiful. That there was appeal to his coarse attitude and suspicious outlook. Charles could tell he was doomed already; the idea of _not _thinking of Erik had made him think about Erik, anyways. His eyes were beautiful; Charles could concede to that, at the very least. Erik's voice was cool, suave, and slightly raspy and Charles wondered if Erik had ever smoked to earn such a tone or if it had happened naturally.

He chuckled to himself, at a loss for words and noticeably losing the battle concerning his mind and Erik Lehnsherr. Charles really was helpless. Sipping his tea, turning back to his paper, Charles started to plan examples of socioeconomic triggers and found himself wondering what triggers Erik had. Erik was, by far, an enigma. Raven's ticks were obvious, and he knew her eyes were the first thing to give her away.

Hank had his growls, and when he was totally gone there was no logic to appeal to. He was extremely primal and socioemotional triggers weren't his friend. Charles supposed socioemotional triggers wouldn't be a good thing for any mutant, but he intended to show that mutants suffered through them just like people did. They shared the same emotions…only their reactions were a bit more fantastic. Drawing a small chart, Charles began to hash his way through a few socioemotional triggers and compare and contrast humans and mutants.

The situations were fairly normal: first dates, a stressful exam, the death of someone close. Charles sighed, laying his pen down. As the ink dried on his logic, and he observed the similar sides, he wondered how people could categorize themselves at all. His example may be nothing but words, and the mutants he chose may be the ones he knew, but all Charles could see were common reactions. In regard to the first date, humans and mutants alike experienced nervousness; a stressful exam typically involved reduction of appetite, an increase in worry, sleeplessness, and studying, and a death warranted grief.

There were no differences in his chart. It was logical that people react similarly unless there was something literally chemically or behaviorally wrong with them. Looking at the chart miffed Charles. It almost seemed to mock him, telling him that his logic was irrelevant to the people that refused to see any view but their own. He grumbled to himself as the chart lay untouched, continuing to taunt him.

Even Earl Gray couldn't help the fact that he was staring opposition in the face.

Usually he ignored opposition, but the chart was proof he hadn't been looking for. Proof that he was fighting a difficult battle initiated by stubborn people. "Poppycock," breathed Charles, "nothing but poppycock." he crumbled up the paper into a fine little ball as he abandoned his tea. Raven flew by the kitchen entryway, pausing enough to backtrack and analyze Charles retrieving and washing out his teacup.

"Good, I don't have to look for you." she grinned brightly, "Where's Hank's number?"

"Ah-ha!" Charles finally felt like he was winning something. Surely Raven must be asking Hank out on a date, right? "Is there something going on that I might want to know about?" teased Charles humorously. Raven rolled her eyes.

"No Charles, it's nothing like that. Hank's trying to back out. He thinks people are going to freak over his fur."

"I see,"

"And I won't have that!" Raven grabbed the house phone and looked expectantly to her older brother.

"Ah, well, let me dial that for you."

"I knew you were smart." giggled Raven as Charles shook his head. Charles busied himself with washing one of the many teacups he owned, pretending not to hear Raven's childish persuasion that relied heavily on gently negating anything Hank said with playful teasing. To Charles it sounded like Hank was being largely ignored and Raven was simply telling him what would happen, only making it sound like something of a joke hanging in the air. She hung up the phone, grinning widely. "We're taking Hank to lunch." announced Raven.

"Isn't it a bit early for lunch?" questioned Charles as he powered down his computer while Raven attempted to drag him by the sleeve.

"We're taking Hank to _brunch_ then!" amended Raven, giving Charles only seconds to shut his laptop before she ripped him away completely. How is it she could manipulate him so easily? It was one of the few things Charles bet he would never understand. There was something powerful in the feminine mystique; he couldn't count the times Raven said that herself. She was thinking of calling herself Mystique on account of her ability to constantly change, to constantly beguile the many normal people she could never truly bond with.

There were plenty of spots in Westchester to meet. Hank had an affinity for sweets so they agreed to meet in a shop styled after the many bakeries and pastry shops of France. Rolled cakes boasting innards of icing, fruit and color lined the display window, giving a glimpse of the many other shelved delights waiting inside. The prices were a bit high for Charles' taste but when he considered the lavish décor he decided that they were set in order to fund the theme. He wasn't sure exactly what the theme was; it was definitely something cutesy toned down with cool shades of metallic blue and gray.

Hank could pick up on his displeasure, silently reminding his friend of the newly acquired ability to smell and translate hormones into emotions, and assured him that the chocolate cake was worth the gouge of his wallet. Charles couldn't really mind the gouge. He had money. Because Raven refused to let him be the only one without food Charles ordered a small plate of crepes with strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce for a filling. Raven suffocated an unsuspecting bagel with generous amounts of cream cheese as Hank carefully worked at a piece of chocolate cake.

Still waiting on his meal, Charles chose to observe the small shop. He was hoping to find inspiration for more likenesses between humans and mutants for his speech. Charles could talk for hours if prompted, and make it seem intelligent, but he was hoping to win over this crowd with sincerity and undeniable examples. _Hoping being the keyword_, thought Charles as he ignored the nagging rock in his stomach whispering that it would be no different than the other times he'd spoken and different places. These people would still feel what they wanted to feel, ultimately, and that appeared to be hate.

Hank's caution and care with the cake intrigued Charles. A chocolate mousse filling oozed out as his blue friend continued to eat away. He'd looked over Hank's notes concerning his secondary mutation a few weeks ago and apparently there was a noticeable difference in the size of his body. Essentially, Hank had to relearn the basic motions of functionality. Not unlike victims of terrible accidents.

_Ah-ha! Another comparison! _realized Charles victoriously as the waitress set a long, circular plate piled with thinly cooked crepes. The strawberries were clearly separated, resting along the right side of the plate, and framed the right sides of the small bowls holding his chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Raven reached over and stuck her left-hand pointer finger into his chocolate sauce, unashamed. She licked it from her finger, giggling, as the waitress gave Charles two small serving spoons for the chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Hank stifled a laugh, causing the noise to turn into a snort and then a purr at the sight of them.

They really did interact like blood siblings, didn't they? Charles smiled at the thought, pleased to see that, for once, the idea of 'mutant' and 'human' wasn't being called into question. The public didn't know what Raven was, and in their eyes it looked like she was picking off his plate and having a good time. Something a sibling would undoubtedly do. Raven leaned back against her chair, one arm hanging off the padded back just to annoy Charles because it wasn't 'proper' and 'ladylike' as he idly waved her off his diminishing supply of strawberries.

She'd been using his strawberry halves for the remainder of her bagel and took a pleased bite while looking out the large set of windows adorning the shop front. Raven didn't have to worry about Charles stealing back his strawberry pieces; he knew better than to come between her and food. Traffic was constant, as it always was in Westchester, and it would only get worse as the lunch hour approached but Raven enjoyed the slight gaps allowing her to see the other side of the street. Waylon street was almost entirely food shops because of the offices nearby. Business owners fought to create restaurants and quick-stop eateries here because of the body traffic.

It was a good tactic, she supposed, considering the variety of the foods. Aside from the French-themed café there was a Mexican joint two stores down and an Indian restaurant starting the strip. A competing strip of food stores lay on the other side. Across from their café was a Let's Nosh deli; she wasn't entirely sure what that was but didn't care about it. Why spend that much time pondering it if she didn't really come across it much?

Had Hank not chosen this little café, Raven may not even know that a place was _named _Let's Nosh! But, she was glad Hank had chosen the little café. Charles' strawberries were delicious, as was the chocolate sauce, but the view of Let's Nosh was the best treat. Erik Lehnsherr sat lazily but with a properness Charles would admire in the third outdoor table to the right of the entrance. He was in the company of an older woman and didn't seem very interested, that much Raven could tell despite the difference.

His eyes wandered once or twice as he nibbled on his sandwich. Their eyes locked, and Raven flushed. He was handsome, for sure, but she didn't expect him to catch on to her staring so quickly. It may be coincidence, considered Raven, but those steely blue eyes glinted brightly, sharply, and told her that may not be so.

The look was equal parts complaining and scolding. It screamed _God this woman is irritating! _and _Why are you looking at me? You shouldn't be. That's odd and invading. Stop it. _Yes_, I _see _you now look away!_

Raven turned, smiling into a cup of coffee that she didn't really need. "You're happy about something," observed Hank with a slight twitch of his blue-furred nostrils as he wiped thoroughly at his fur-encircled mouth. Cleaning was a bit more tedious since his secondary mutation.

"I found Erik." explained Raven lightly as if it was nothing and the heat creeping into Charles' cheeks didn't amuse her. She took advantage of his surprise and snagged another strawberry, dunking it in chocolate and yanking it back to her mouth before chocolate could drip on the table. Charles could always defend himself and say the blush was owed to Raven's deliberately obnoxious chewing but it was also because of Erik. Their email correspondence hung heavily in the air to him, like some unspoken scandal. And really it was nothing, but he knew if Raven learned of it there wouldn't be any rest for at least two weeks.

Part of him wanted to look for Erik, to give an acknowledging wave since Raven had spotted him, but he refrained. The idea seemed silly since they were a street apart – more than that if he accounted for the windows, tables, chairs, other people, and cars. "Say 'hello'!" encouraged Raven, trying to raise his right arm and wave it for him. Stealing his strawberries, he could handle, acting like a barbarian in public was also tolerable, but Charles would not stand to be embarrassed at her hand when he had perfect control of his own movements.

"I will not. It's obvious he's busy." Charles pointed out, finally wrenching his hand free.

"Oh, so you were looking at him?" pried Raven curiously. Charles may have stolen a glance or two but he wouldn't tell her that. He wasn't entirely sure if he _had _stolen a glance – Erik was quite memorable. His long, strong face and slightly tanned skin had been burned into his brain from the other day. It was the first time Charles could recall remembering a person in detail when it was just to remember them, not for an assignment or reference in a speech.

"No," snorted Charles.

"I think you were," Raven began to sing in confidence as she popped the second-to-last piece of her bagel in her mouth.

"I think _not_," insisted Charles, setting his elbows down on the table in emphasis. Raven snickered.

"You're eerily imaginative," remarked Charles of his sister, "it's a wonder no one's questioned your sanity at your workplace."

"She's not laughing about you and this…Erik…person," Hank told Charles as he contemplated a second piece of cake and tried not to look directly at him. Charles perked up a bit, able to catch the humor threatening to lift Hank's voice and break his composure via his already trembling dark lips.

"Then what is it?"

"You set your elbow down in the whipped cream, Charles."

"Oh good lord!" hissed Charles, face cramping with heat as he lifted his elbow. It emerged wetly from the remaining whipped cream with a soft _pop!_ and Charles winced as a fluffy glob of white adorned his elbow. He could be thankful, at least, that it wasn't the chocolate sauce. Unfurling the cloth napkin in one swift motion, Charles began to clean his elbow.

"Don't clean it, that's a waste!" cried Raven between her amused giggles. "Lick it off, that's what you should do! It's whipped cream!"

"I hate to put a damper on your enthusiasm but it's physically impossible to lick your own elbow."

"Oh it is _not_," Raven rolled her eyes at Hank.

"Is too," Hank fluffed up a bit, not liking the discounting of his knowledge. Raven eyed her own elbow and Charles shot her a warning glance. She was not about to test her theory versus Hank's in a public place!

"Don't you dare!" warned Charles as he dropped his whipped cream soiled napkin to the plate. It wasn't empty, but he'd eaten as much as he could handle. Raven eyed him with the same _I _dare _you_ look and she eventually relented. After shoving the remains of her cream cheese-smeared bagel into Hank's overly sensitize nose as a rebuttal. Charles checked the table before setting his elbows down disappointedly, making sure to hide his face as Hank snorted, huffed, and quickly pried the bagel away from his nostrils.

His genius colleague growled and did his best to wipe at the thick, gooey coating of cream cheese. _I'll smell that for at least a week_, wagered Hank as Charles called for the check and shook his head at them.

* * *

Mrs. Fowler wasn't exactly Erik's type but he couldn't be picky. There were few wealthy, clever older women willing to risk their marriage and help him pay his bills in the process. She was about forty-five with heavily dyed auburn hair that did nothing to ease the age of her semi-tanned face. Sun damage was being reversed by expensive cosmetics but could still be seen. Her almond-shaped brown eyes were accented by crow's feet.

Her neck was beginning to wrinkle like a saved paper air drying, but Erik couldn't say he noticed. Mrs. Fowler prided herself on the ample chest that had been reconstructed after two pregnancies, one paid for by her husband, of course. Mr. Fowler was constantly away on business, leaving her bored and curious. She liked young men, Erik ventured, because he was frequently booked by her. The woman was not good at subtle seduction despite the many sessions she'd had with Erik, and he grabbed his polish sausage sandwich as an excuse not to interact with her like she wanted.

She respected his need for space but that didn't mean she didn't try to sneak her way in. Erik didn't like to be touched unless he initiated the contact. Touching could be brief if it was accidental but he out and out refused to be touched by people he didn't like who were blatantly invading his space to do so. Paying clients included, only they were shoved off with politeness and a smile. Mrs. Fowler kept her hand in the middle of the table like it hadn't been inching towards one of Erik's, and she smiled at him as he took a bite of his sandwich.

As long as he didn't let the sandwich go, he was safe. He knew he couldn't hold out forever, though, and put it down after four bites. Immediately his hands went to the stash of paper napkins wedged under his plate. Mrs. Fowler continued to smile and didn't seem hindered. "Are you enjoying lunch?" Erik inquired, starting conversation to be nice, and Mrs. Fowler nodded.

"Oh yes," smiled the older woman, "but I'm into the mood for a bit of dessert." Her brown eyes twinkled and she smiled a bit larger. Erik resisted the urge to snort or growl. No subtlety _whatsoever_!

"They have sponge cake and a raspberry jelly roll," offered Erik with his best _I'm not disgusted and no I don't hate you _smile. Mrs. Fowler chuckled, tucking a section of hair behind her ear. She liked witty young men, too, and Erik was both deflecting her advances and earning brownie points. "Perhaps you can take one to your son. Doesn't he get out of school soon?"

"Jeremy gets out at two but starts soccer at three."

"Perhaps he'd enjoy a bite to eat before practice."

"He might," considered the mother. "I do have to get going, though, now that we're talking about the boys. Jace's school lets out in forty minutes and the pickup line is hell." The mother tapped her fingers in irritation against the tabletop. "Walk me to my car?" half-asked the mother as she motioned for their waiter and asked for the check. Erik didn't mean to look away, he really didn't, but he couldn't stand the feeling of being watched any longer. It made his neck hairs stand on end, his shoulders tense, and he just didn't like it!

He looked around idly, picking up his sandwich again in case Mrs. Fowler reached for his hands. Erik hadn't really eaten anything all day. His first appointment started at eight thirty and they hadn't stopped! Mrs. Fowler was his last one of the day, and for that he was thankful. At last he pinned the source, surprised to see Raven across the way between the cars and people beginning to escape their offices for lunch.

Their eyes locked for a moment or two and then Raven turned away. Erik didn't like to be stared at, and enjoyed the fact that she turned around. His enjoyment was short-lived, however, because she'd gotten Charles involved in looking at him. His previous appointment stole a second-long glance here and there before battling his sister for the control of his own arm. A grin tried to fight its way onto Erik's face at the somewhat childish tussle occurring across the street.

He couldn't tell what Charles was saying but knew he was reprimanding Raven, evident by the way he wrenched his hands from her and used that parental glare. Raven finally relented, resorting to teasing, or what he gathered was teasing by her shameless grin. Charles planted his elbows firmly on the table in a defense of himself, or to end the discussion, and Erik nearly choked on his sandwich. _Right into the whipped cream_, mused Erik as he stifled the laugh trying to come out around his mouthful of sandwich. For a few seconds Charles chattered on, oblivious, with his tablemates until.

Erik knew – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that Charles realized his elbow's placement when the heat poured into his cheeks. Charles, nervous and fluttery like he'd been in their first encounter, wiped furiously at his sodden elbow. Erik was quite amused. The laugh threatened to escape as Raven pointed to her elbow and made licking motions shortly before jabbing her finger in the face of a third person Erik couldn't quite see while trying to balance banter with Charles at the same time. Raven shoving the food on her plate in the direction of the third person was the last straw for Erik and he let out a chuckle.

"Like what you see?"

"Yes," grinned Erik, motioning for a to-go box once he fell back into his own situation. _Oh fuck_, cursed Erik as he refrained from scowling. He assumed Mrs. Fowler had been watching the hilarity unfold with them but hadn't. She was referring to herself when asking the question and he'd walked into it like a dumbass. Mrs. Fowler released some girlish giggle far too young for her, and sighed, relaxed, as Erik wrapped up his sandwich and placed it in the promptly-delivered box.

"Will you walk me to my car when you're done staring?"

"Absolutely," Erik stood as he paid his half of the ticket and dropped a few ones for the tab (Mrs. Fowler knew he liked to split the check since she never let him pay in full) and offered his arm. She took it and they walked halfway down the block to where she was parked. Mrs. Fowler flashed her eyes coyly but flirtatiously as she slipped into the driver's seat and put on sunglasses. Once her car was turned in the opposite direction, and there was no way she could see him, Erik wrinkled his nose. That woman was nothing more than a lusty piece of leather!

He started calmly back towards their table, curious to see if Charles had gotten into more trouble, but was surprised to find them gone. The table they once occupied was tauntingly empty and Erik scowled. There went_ his_ entertainment. Erik had nothing left to do, and considered going to the library for Charles'…thing, whatever it was. Truthfully, Erik had forgotten, but he really didn't have anything better to do.

Being partially bored because of Charles' long-windedness was better than nothing. Attending would make Raven happier and might give Erik a chance to poke fun at Charles. He did like how easily the man flustered, after all. Aside from that, Erik was a bit curious, and rousing his curiosity was never a good thing. His mother once remarked that he was like a shark with his curiosity; he circled the item in question and took one bite – if he liked it, he latched on.

If he didn't, he left it alone.

He was beginning to like Charles. Erik was never really a bully to nice people, much less people who were nice to him, but there was a certain bliss in making Charles nervous. His real reason for liking Charles was the fact that the prim, proper man – a total polar opposite from himself – had managed to get his respect without demanding it. It was as if the young man had stolen it, or siphoned it from him, with that dangerous naiveté and those red, red lips. Not that he was thinking about Charles Xavier's lips, of course.

Erik was just…simply swimming about the man, waiting for more to happen. This run-in was coincidental, of course, but the library wouldn't be. He knew running home to apply rubbing alcohol in hopes that it would chase off Mrs. Fowler's overbearing perfume would make him pressed for time but Erik _was not_ showing up smelling like a musty floral-scented handbag. Entrusting control of the car mostly to his powers, Erik ate while he drove.

He wasn't showing up on an angry, hungry stomach, either.

Unlocking his door twenty minutes later with a subtle flick of his wrist, Erik swooped in to search restlessly for the rubbing alcohol. Any other time he'd be able to find it. Now that he had something to attend, it seemed the object of his desire wanted to evade him. Finally, behind the toilet bowl cleaner and a can of Raid, Erik located the rubbing alcohol. He licked stray mayonnaise off his thumb before drowning a napkin in rubbing alcohol and scrubbing at his neck.

The scent hit him like a punch to the gut and Erik scowled. It was overbearing, not unlike Mrs. Fowler's perfume. He sought out his body spray and hoped it wouldn't make an awful combination for the nose to handle. Really he just needed something to counteract that sterilizing smell. His hair was in perfect condition since he preferred to maintain it with a strong gel and Erik patted it fondly, gratefully, as he locked his door, slammed it shut, and trotted to his car.

There was no way, even with his power, that he'd be able to make it to the library in ten minutes. Erik, much to his disappointment, was going to be _that_ guy. The one that showed up late and was awkwardly stared at as he struggled to find a seat. Parking wasn't as bad as he thought – people really didn't care about mutants – but it was considerable enough to spend an extra three minutes searching for a spot. A sign set paces away from the door was the only real indication he had of Charles' speech.

It was in a tiny study area away from the numerous shelves attracting a handful of people. About twenty of the thirty-two chairs were full. Raven and a large blue male sporting attire too fine for his furry appearance sat at the front, nearest Charles. Erik approached the closest table and sat with his back to Charles, not liking his back to the people hanging idly around the shelves as they listened to Charles without supporting him by directly claiming a chair. A few listened with genuine curiosity but others sneered, shaking their heads and flipping idly through books.

"…so, as you can see, mutants actually _aren't _that different from people. Most may not think that a socioemotional trigger is an applicable test but it really is. Social interaction and emotional wellbeing are crucial to the psychology and functionality of people. These two areas are largely important in society and without them we can't really assess the situational flexibility of the person in question." Charles continued and Erik settled for hanging one arm off of his chair and turning to face him. He owed Charles that much, at least.

Sitting sideways in the seat allowed him a partial few of the lingering people half-listening to Charles while actually proving to the young man that he was there and aware. Erik was able to gather that Charles had addressed the importance of socioemotional triggers, defined them, and had started to relate mutants and humans when he arrived. At the moment the young genius was merely taking a break to reiterate the focus of the speech: mutants, like humans, were susceptible to socioemotional triggers and, therefore, not different. "Now that we've covered that, if you will, I have a few points left to address," Charles informed, clapping his hands softly to survey the crowd. Erik could still see the darker spot where whipped cream had assailed him as Charles continued to insert gestures into his speech.

Speaking Charles was different from Normal Charles. Speaking Charles was persuasive and cleverly firm. The way he spoke, educating without pressing, didn't really ooze confidence at all but Erik could tell people were listening to the man. Well, listening as much as they cared to. Normal Charles would've stammered, smiled widely, and laughed nervously while trying to find something to do with his hands, but Speaking Charles smiled, didn't seem nervous in the slightest, and was able to spout without a single stutter.

"My next point is a bit tender: death. People naturally go through a five-step grieving process, one that is indiscriminant concerning genes. Like humans, mutants will mourn the death of a loved one and even spiral into a deep depression at the loss. They shed tears, like people, and can lose a substantial amount of weight due to the decrease in appetite and lack of willingness to live."

"Okay, so they have feelings. What's it matter?" one person asked. Erik couldn't gauge where the question was meant as a barb or an innocent inquiry.

"It matters because, unlike humans, extreme stress can cause a debut of powers. The debut of powers may seem like a glaring difference but it actually isn't – people resort to emotional extremes when faced with a death. In fact, I've met several people who've openly stated that they wished to disappear. In most cases humans are more dangerous than mutants."

"Now wait a minute—"

"Yeah, hold on!"

"Ah-ah! Simply consider this: how many tested and verified _people _have committed suicide in the face of a family death, gone on a rampage, or resorted to other forms of erratic behavior?"

"I don't know!"

"It happens, so what?"

"You're right," Charles smiled, "it does happen. And, knowing that, can anyone tell me how many _mutants _have gone on emotional rampages?"

The room fell quiet. There wasn't actually a statistic for mutant rampages concerning death.

"No one knows," admitted one person.

"Exactly!" Charles chuckled. "Observing that, who is the greater danger here, mutants or humans?"

"That's biased!" cried one person hiding behind a nearby bookshelf. "No one knows the mutant statistic because they're afraid to come out!"

"Yeah!"

"Well, I can see why…" Charles flashed a disappointed close-lipped smile and Erik heard the room quiet nearly instantly. He curled his lips to resist a snort. The young genius may be naïve but he knew how to emotionally influence people. How to make them feel like children.

Erik shifted slightly in his seat, trying not to convey immense pride for the brave human. He initially moved to better observe the room and relieve the ache creeping up from his buttocks, but Erik paused. That tingling wasn't right; he hadn't been sitting long enough for anything to fall asleep. It pulled on his veins, vibrating like pulled guitar string left to sing in the open air. Something metal was nearby, and larger than what was in the library.

Being moved, or Erik wouldn't feel it buzzing against his veins. He focused on the tingling feeling, delving into the make of the object. It was made of multiple pieces of metal or he wouldn't be able to break it down; there was something small within something larger, and the larger thing in question had at least three pieces. One of the pieces was long, the other stout, and the last bulky and containing most of the metal. The smaller pieces were small enough for him to pull, even at this distance, and when the tingling collected at his fingertips Erik reached a terrible conclusion.

When he was able to feel metal, and separate it, he could judge the size of the metal by the amount of pooling in his fingers. If it only reached his fingertip, it was small. The farther it climbed towards the center of his palm, the larger it was. His fingertips tingled like they were on fire and Erik knew that only one thing could be consistently small AND inside a larger metallic holster: bullets. Bullets aimed at one of the large windows painting the small study area in afternoon sunshine, or else they wouldn't feel this strong.

Metal of passing pedestrians would come and go, not linger on his veins. His veins acted like a radar for his power – these bullets, this gun was being purposefully pointed in his direction. Maybe not at him, but in this direction all the same. The tingling in his index finger ebbed immediately, rushing down his veins like water pouring through a flume. One of the bullets had been fired.

Many horrible scenarios raced through his mind – an angry lover getting even with an ex, fired teacher seeking revenge on the institution – but one dominated his mind: Charles. Someone wasn't happy with him promoting mutant rights and sought to silence him. That's how it always was, wasn't it? All great speakers, brilliant minds seeking change, died before their time. His ability to manipulate magnetic objects provided a buffer for the traveling bullet, giving him enough time to overturn his chair and run to the front of the room to tackle the unsuspecting speaker.

Several listeners jumped up in startle, a few laughed, and Erik was vaguely aware of Raven's reprimanding, pissed bark of "Erik!" before the glass shattered in the third window. People screamed, ducked, and covered their ears as it occurred to them what happened. What Erik prevented. He wished more than anything to catch that source of metal and call it to him, but he was worried about Charles. The man in question was winded, surprised, and partially dazed.

His head had connected solidly with the thin carpet covering the firm library floor.

"Was your speech going to include near-death experiences?" wondered Erik, hoping his dry joke would help the startled man come to. It did not, and he was left breathing heavily over Charles Xavier, unrelenting in his near-possessive hunkered down position.

The large blue mutant that reminded Erik of Raven's real form slowly stood from his crouched position behind a table. Erik didn't know much about him, but could see him edging towards the window to analyze the hole. His veins no longer tingled with metal, indicating that the shooter had fled, and Erik felt everything in him cool at the release of tension. A fuzzy blue finger moved silently from the hole to the side, clearly calculating the trajectory of the bullet. "That was aimed at you, Charles." determined the mutant.

Had Erik's blood not already cooled at the passing of the metal, it would've frozen then.

"Come on. We're going home." Raven nudged at Erik, tearing away from her own personal shelter of the table. She was clearly upset.

"I'll escort you." decided Erik. He was the best defense against metal, of course.

"Charles' safety is primary but I'd like to see the bullet. We can hand it over to the police for examination." Pointed out the mutant. Erik could find the bullet easily but didn't like giving it to the police. He doubted they would really try to solve the case since Charles was trying to sway the pre-established balance and superiority of _homo sapien_.

"I'll find the bullet," offered Erik, "but I won't give it to the police."

"Are you mad? That's just making trouble!" argued Hank. "It's protocol to give evidence to the authorities."

"I don't play by the rules." stated Erik. The blue mutant growled and Erik watched his fur bristle.

"Hank, please," intervened Charles gently.

"Let's just go home and we'll take it from there." soothed Raven, stopping Hank when he made a threatening step towards Erik. Unfazed, Erik readjusted his turtleneck before following the call of the bullet. It expanded the original path Hank had traced from the window and Erik managed to pull it out of a shelf not too far from the service desk, blowing bits of a ruined book from it.

"I'll drive you home, Charles." said Hank, making his way to the door seconds before the members of the front desk were called back to analyze the window. would be

"And I'll follow." Erik assured.

The quartet managed to escape the campus before the on-staff security guard could pepper Charles with questions. Erik doubted the incident would be pursued, but considered that it might since Charles came from money. Attacking one of Westchester's few wealthy families would surely make headlines. If the cops did approach him and expressed dissatisfaction with him leaving the scene, they could play the safety card and claim Charles' house was a better environment for him than the public. He kept his powers focused on Charles' car, creating a protective sphere that would reverse outside metal interference while safely locking in their seatbelts and car doors as they drove to the mansion Erik didn't think he'd be revisiting so soon.

His clientele rarely consisted of men, much less men like Charles Xavier. Charles was the first of his kind to book Erik, and Erik noticed unhappily that Charles was impacting him more than he expected. Erik didn't like underestimating things, much less people, and didn't like that the unexpected just got complicated. He was used to feeling things when he needed for people; like acting amused or interested in his clientele – this situation threw him into foreign territory. Dusty territory.

He hadn't experienced unprompted, primal emotion since his parents. And now…Charles. There was genuine fear for Charles. Admiration, of course, for his cause, but also something else. Something furious and protective and easily roused.

Erik couldn't name the feeling, but knew it was responsible for his utterly horrid mood concerning the near-death experience. It was largely _I'm pissed! _but had undertones of caution and relief that translated into _You're not dead…that's…good. _Why was it good? He'd only met this man once! Logic tried to explain it in terms of Raven; Erik had kept Charles alive for Raven because she wouldn't know how to adapt to his loss, but that didn't feel right.

It felt like a lie, and Erik knew when he was lying to himself.

He put his vehicle into park on the gated lawn of Charles' sprawling manor and watched the trio head inside. Erik was merely steps behind them and was torn between following Hank to this "lab" they were all babbling about and staying with Raven to assist in Charles' mild shock. Apparently the genius had realized some time ago that his efforts could translate into life threats but his logic had done nothing for actually surviving the situation. The metal-bender was relatively sure there were few people alive that could avoid shock after nearly being shot. Raven convinced him to stay with Charles, and Erik had to agree after the blue male unleashed another monstrous growl at the sensation of being followed.

Agitated, Erik settled in the kitchen across from Charles. Raven frantically prepared tea while trying to talk Charles down like a mother rocking a crying child into quietness. Charles was coping with the near-death experience by stuttering his way through the motives of the gunman while repeating, "I know it was going to happen…I just…I-I didn't think anyone would do it. Visualizing myself dying isn't on my daily regiment!"

Raven encouraged Charles to drink tea as a way to steady his nerves. It took about twenty minutes for the older Xavier's hands to quite shaking, and about ten more for him to actually finish half a cup. "Find anything Hank?" Raven exposed the furry man rapping on the kitchen entryway as a nicety. The bullet that had followed Erik into the house, floated in the car alongside his head to avoid contamination, was trapped in a plastic bag.

"Yes," Hank pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"What did you find?" Erik pressed, watching him lick his lips nervously.

"Initials." Answered the genius.

"Great!" grinned Raven, "The shooter was stupid enough to put his name in the bullet! That's good, right?"

"It may not be someone's initials." considered Hank.

"What were they?" pried Erik before Raven could send Hank on a thinking tangent.

"M-E-S." his golden eyes narrowed a bit at the coarseness of Erik's pointedness. "Not unlike that of the organization you represent." added Hank, his tone obviously suspicious and dry.

"Erik didn't do this," snorted Charles in disbelief as he eyed Hank like he was a moron. Hank rolled his eyes.

"I'm aware of that, Charles. He saved your life. It doesn't mean someone in his…line of work couldn't be after you. You _are _wealthy." reminded Hank.

"The Mutant Escort Service has a variety of people but I assure you none of them are murderers." Erik defended his workplace. Hank sniffed indignantly, not having a reply. He didn't have much experience regarding The Mutant Escort Service, anyways. "You would know that if you ever got laid," Erik said a few moments later, unable to resist repaying Hank with a jab. Hank bristled, unveiling bright, sharp teeth as he stomped towards Erik. Metal hummed against his veins and Erik held his hand up in warning.

"Gentlemen, please!" hissed Charles as he stood to answer the knocking on the door. Erik followed wordlessly, cautious of who could be at the door. Charles had few neighbors and it would be easy for someone to shoot him and run. "It's the police," whispered Charles as he pulled away from the peephole and opened the door.

"Mr. Xavier?"

"Yes, how can I help you? And how did you bypass my gate?"

"I'm Officer Abernathy and this is Officer Clives. We climbed, sir. Usually we wouldn't but we understand you fled the scene of an attempted homicide at the library today."

"Of course. I didn't feel safe there." explained Charles.

"We understand that one of your acquaintances removed a bullet. May we have it for evidence?"

"I suppose you can. You're investigating awfully fast. May I ask why?"

"It was called in, sir, and the attack happened on a public place. You're a noteworthy figure in the field of genetics and we consider you a priority."

"You consider him a priority or his status?" questioned Erik, frowning stonily as the men dared to size him up for asking questions. They didn't want to admit that was their real reason for following up on this; he could tell that by their faces.

"We're investigating this in case it gets worse. You've been talking on behalf of mutants for a while so if someone didn't want mutants around, didn't want them to get ideas about earning better rights, they'd start with you."

"So you think this is the beginning of a mutant witch hunt of sorts?" queried Charles. The officers shrugged in reply going on little else but suspicion.

"If it helps, while analyzing the bullet I discovered the initials M-E-S." Hank came to the door, polite but somber as he made his presence known behind Charles. If anything he hoped his size and appearance would scare them away. Charles needed rest now. And he needed time to ponder the meaning of the initials.

"Did you contamina—"

"Of course not. I'm no idiot," snorted Hank. "I'm a leading figure on chemistry and genetics, do you think I'd be that stupid?"

"I—I guess not."

"We're more than willing to assist you in the investigation but can we do so at a later time? Charles really needs to rest."

"We'd like a statement fir—"

"I can give it," Erik cut the officer off. "I was there when it happened."

"I can give you his speech word for word," Raven came forward, crossing her arms in a business-like fashion. For a moment or two the officers were stumped, clearly not trained for a situation like this.

"I'm a doctor," Hank revealed, "and Charles really does need to rest." He pulled out wallet-sized credentials for proof and began to lead Charles from the door. The officers would have to make do with Erik and Raven. Charles wasn't safe in the small open space of the door, anyways. Who knew if the shooter was acting alone or not?

By the time the police left with Erik and Raven's statement the metal bender had formulated a plan. Or what would have to do in place of a more concrete plan. Hank directed him to Charles' room, his insistencies that Charles be left alone ignored completely as Erik strode in. Any other time he'd be wary of entering a man's room and not cataloguing the placement of it in regards to the rest of the house and the nearby exits. Charles lay silently on a pillow, outside of the covers, staring at his ceiling.

"I'm going to call up one of my friends inside the Mutant Escort Service and have her keep an eye on you tomorrow."

"I was just thinking about your work, actually," Charles rolled over to face him as Erik stood ramrod-straight and a bit awkwardly off to the side of Charles' large, soft bed. "What if M-E-S was meant for you? You work in that organization."

"I've never dissatisfied any of my clients," Erik grinned dryly, trying once again to invigorate Charles with humor. The man simply flashed him a crooked frown of displeasure. _Not in the mood to laugh_, considered Erik and accepted that. "At any rate, I'll have her visit you and keep an eye out for me. I have appointments tomorrow."

"Who are you sending?"

"Emma Frost, but don't worry about that. That's tomorrow. Right now you need rest."

"I doubt I'll sleep tonight," mumbled Charles with a hint of breathlessness.

"Will you be alright?" for a moment Erik considered staying. It would make tomorrow interesting, but he knew he could safely protect Charles against anymore metal-based assaults.

"Yes. I'm sure Raven will insist that Hank stay and he's a bit intimidating to anyone stupid enough to accost us."

That didn't totally please Erik but it was a start.

"Alright then…" they absorbed the silence that lapsed soon after. "I'll check in with you tomorrow then."

"Thank you Erik, you know…for today."

"I told you that you needed a babysitter. I just didn't think it would be me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I consider myself a good guardian. I'll scare the piss out of anyone that comes across you for the next twenty years if I have to."

Charles laughed.

"I don't know if I want that," replied the Englishman. Erik let a small half-grin contort his lips.

"Most people don't want what's good for them, anyways." Erik mused. "Like you, you don't want to sleep right now. You should be."

"You're talking to me. I can't sleep."

"Am I distracting?" teased Erik. He was rewarded with another laugh.

"You're certainly life-saving. I'm glad I met you."

"You're certainly my most interesting client. And I expect to hear from you tomorrow." Erik let his command hang in the air before slipping out the door and cracking it behind him. Shutting Charles in there alone didn't feel right, not with what he'd gone through today. He reflected on the small exchange, on his choice of words. Charles Xavier certainly was his most interesting client. Certainly the first one he'd risked his life for.

For the first time since working at the Mutant Escort Service, Erik Lehnsherr felt himself being pulled in by a client.


	3. Chapter 3

The Mutant Escort Service

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**AN: **Thanks to rileybear14 and Extra-Fried-Noodles for the reviews on the last chapter. That was fast! Extra-Fried-Noodles: what is 'UST'? I am unfamiliar with that :/. This chapter may not seem like much, because unlike _Something Beyond Imagination_ this isn't straight, raw Cherik – Cherik is one layer of this story (though it is the most important).

Big thanks to everyone who's alerted to this story, following it, and has favorited (not really a word, I know) it!

Please take a moment to view this YouTube video I've made. It contains no viruses or anything of that kind, I assure you. This is a teen-based, teen-to-teen help project I'm trying to start. I need followers. I need people who understand why I'm doing this.

user / xJust1Fanx?feature=mhee

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Chapter Three: A Bitter Frost Sets In

Charles Xavier awoke to his phone buzzing, making its way across the nightstand towards him. He'd only really begun to hear the vibrating chime and sleepily lifted his head. It amused his sleep-fogged brain to see the vibrations carrying the phone towards him. Whoever was calling, it was like the phone _wanted _him to answer. The Englishman slipped his long legs over the edge of his bed, planting them against his cold hardwood floor to keep from falling over as he reached for the phone.

_Unidentified number_, noted Charles as it rang in his hand. But he did know it was ten thirty, thanks to the clock running along the bottom of the screen. He hadn't even recalled falling asleep but apparently he had. Almost dying yesterday really ruined his sleeping pattern. Charles spent most of the night swapping speculations with Hank but had nothing to show for it by the time morning approached so they retired.

"Hello? This is Charles Xavier, may I help you?"

_"You shouldn't give your name when you answer your phone. Not after yesterday. At least try to trick them into thinking this is a wrong number if they're really looking for you." _replied Erik. Charles laughed, trying to rearrange his horribly mussed hair.

"But you're the one who called me," pointed out Charles. He heard a snort that qualified as _I know that, that's NOT the point_.

_"Just to see if you're alright. How'd you sleep?"_

"Fine. Hank and I stayed up late deliberating those initials and have naught to show for it, I'm afraid." frowned Charles as he cradled the cell phone between his ear and shoulder and began to get dressed. Couldn't meet Erik's appointed company in pajamas, after all.

_"Someone will have something to show for it," _promised Erik.

"You sound sure," mused Charles as he moved the phone to his lazier hand long enough to slip one arm through a button-down shirt before returning it to dress his other arm. _Marvelous invention, button-down shirts_, thought Charles happily as he realized no awkward 'Oh, hold on, I have to dress!' would ruin their phone conversation. He wasn't sure how Erik would take the idea of talking to people while they were getting dressed. Charles personally didn't like talking to people who were using the bathroom, or shaving, because the person on the line was only half-focused then. Not that anything truly awkward could conspire between him and Erik since he'd saved his life yesterday.

That covered most of the embarrassing moments that could ever happen, right? And if not the whipped cream situation certainly narrowed his possibilities of making an ass of himself. Right?

_"You're visit to the library's all over the front page," _Informed Erik.

"I'm afraid I haven't picked up a paper yet."

"I'm sure Raven or…that thing…has one by now. You should take a look. I'd love to talk longer and pepper you with questions until you resemble a seasoned holiday pheasant but I have an appointment. I'll check in later, around noon."

"Holiday pheasant, mmm? Seems someone has food on the brain," Laughed Charles. "Alright, then, call me at noon."

"Goodbye, Charles."

"Goodbye, Erik." Because he tried to button with one hand – and had managed the first few bottom buttons, Charles wasn't totally focused on shutting off the phone. His heart skipped a beat when he realized he wasn't the first to hang up. Erik lingered for a second longer, long enough for Charles to hear a small half-breath, before the line went dead. _Why would he do that? _Wondered Charles as he set two hands to the waiting buttons. Did he have something he wanted to say or did he not know his phone was still on?

"More importantly," Charles finished his thought aloud, as he sometimes did when voicing mental matters seemed logical, "why do I care?"

But he couldn't answer that. He didn't know why he cared. All he knew, for certain, is that Erik Lehnsherr saved his life yesterday. And that his stomach fluttered warmly at the thought of Erik taking the time to spend a second longer on the phone when he needed to go. For the first time in a long time, Charles was getting attention from someone. Attention not caused by his impressive academic record or theories on genetics.

It was…nice.

Charles combed his hair and brushed his teeth before heading towards the kitchen. Hank picked quietly at a bowl of cereal as Raven set a drink in front a of blonde woman dressed totally in white. She was a creamy yellow that took the edge off the otherwise pristine, blinding color. Raven smiled warmly at him, offering toast, as the woman removed cats-eye sunglasses to reveal surveying brown eyes. "You must be Charles," She deduced, folding the sunglasses and tucking them into the obvious dip of her corset-like top.

"Uh…yes. You must be Ms. Frost."

"Please, call me Emma."

"Alright, pleased to meet you Emma." Charles inserted himself into a chair, plate filled with nothing but toast, and began to fiddle with the napkin-wrapped silverware. "Why is it Erik sent you?" Inquired Charles as he looked her over. Outright, like Erik, she didn't seem to be a mutant. Attractive, certainly, but not his type. Too…trophy-ish and high-maintenance for his taste. He'd been around enough stuffy people in his childhood and didn't like to associate with people like that anymore than he had to.

That didn't mean Emma was awful, of course. She had some kind of heart if Erik could convince her to see him. Take a day off of work to do his bidding and babysit him and whatnot. Emma's eyed oozed disbelief and a bit of irritation but she scaled the scalding look back until it resembled charm and tolerance. With talents like that, being able to adapt her composure to hide her true thoughts, it was easy to see why the Mutant Escort Service wanted her.

"Well," started Emma conversationally and simply like she was talking to a child, "you were almost shot yesterday…"

"I know that," Charles waved unhappily at her. For someone sent on business she liked dragging her feet.

"I'm not dragging my feet," Emma assured, her suddenness slicing him like a sharp knife, "I'm getting a feel for your house and you, of course."

"Watch it," warned Raven, curling her lips against her teeth. It was an instinct not to like the women that eyed Charles. Raven had it in her head that they were all money hunters intent to drain his fortune via his penis.

"Erik's made it clear that he's not on the market," soothed Emma. "And he's not my type anyways. No offense, sugar." She walked those brown eyes up and down Charles and Charles coughed into his hand. That was awkward. Women were hardly bold with him; most were cautious and flirty and wanted _him _to come to _them_. "I like them older," Emma explained, "but to answer your question, I'm a telepath."

"He wants you to read my mind, then." Decided Charles. Emma nodded, taking a dainty sip of her drink.

"All of your minds, actually. Erik thinks one of you might have seen something and tucked it away because of the startle."

"What if you don't find anything?" Hank asked.

"Then he'll think of something else. He has other ideas." Emma shrugged. If she didn't respect Erik, she wouldn't be doing this. He was her only real competition inside the Mutant Escort Service and had proven on more than one occasion he could handle himself on and off the clock. Shaw had them test their powers just to keep from being rusty and Emma knew with the attempt on Charles' life – a mutant supporter – those practices would be mandatory. More frequent.

Erik was already a force to be reckoned with and she imagined an attack on his client would surely send him back to the training room in a rage. Searching for blood, as it was. He was vicious enough already; had she not been in diamond form during their sparring match he would've asphyxiated her. Shaw was a sadistic bastard like that; if two escorts were on the same level as one another, and wanted more advertising space on the website, they had to fight for it. Erik, unfortunately, won that fight and she settled for the second-highest spot on the Mutant Escort Service webpage.

Her clientele was still steady but it didn't mean getting dethroned didn't hurt. She was used to being the White Queen. Not the White Queen Behind Erik Lehnsherr. "May I?" Emma gestured to his head and Charles quit toying with the unused knife and spoon.

"Of course," he replied tentatively. He'd never met a telepath. What would someone roaming through his head feel like?

"I'll be gentle," swore Emma. Charles felt a slight tingle in his brain, like a blast of cool air, and watched as memories of yesterday were brought to the forefront of his mind. It wasn't that unusual – he'd been thinking about the incident earlier this morning with Hank. Trying to make sense of it. She pulled out after a few minutes.

"Nothing. Not even in your subconscious. You were too focused on your speech."

"Try me," insisted Raven, "I was sitting in the audience. I could've caught something out of the corner of my eye." She moved forward in her seat as Emma sighed and redirected her attention. In Raven's head Emma identified the unsettling feeling similar to the one Erik felt, simply without the metal accent. Erik had told Emma little about Raven, maybe because he didn't know a lot, himself, but Emma knew from her memories that she was more perceptive than Charles. His sister possessed an awareness that could only be cultured from constant environmental changes and a wariness of people. There was a bit of herself in there, Emma determined with an iota of fondness.

Raven, like herself, was a proud, strong woman. Very bold. Her mouth looked sweetly glossed but Emma was sure the ferocious mouth of a carnivore waited behind them. "Nothing. Now you, Dr. McCoy."

"You have more tact than you're coworker, I'll say that." Snorted Hank, recalling the comment about his frequency of copulation. Just the thought of it made his fur bristle. He had to choke down a snarl in order to focus. It would be rude to scare Ms. Frost, anyways.

"Erik just doesn't like being questioned." Emma commented as she delved into Hank's mind. She was highly interested in this man. Before her sat Hank McCoy, but at the first sign of digging into his mind she felt something else. Something strong and primal roaring from the depths. Her forte was not mutations, but Emma guessed Hank had only recently experienced the mutation that made him look as he did now.

The idea was supported by the way his mind processed information; his senses were sorted into two categories. Always a businesswoman, Emma condensed Hank's whirling mind – from memories to current experiences – into Hank and Beast. _Only the files from yesterday. Files concerning the library._ She thought. Because Emma envisioned herself at a desk, and thought of Hank's mental processes as 'files', she had to continue acting as if there were actual detailed papers beneath her psychic persona or the illusion allowing her to explore his mind would be truncated. Hank registered nothing unusual about the library event, only the fact that his friend was speaking and his overwhelming nervousness concerning the other attendants.

She heard the echoes of his many thoughts, a bit disappointed that they centered on self-hatred. Shouldn't he be _proud _to be a mutant? He had a PhD at twenty-two for god sakes! Emma allowed Hank's files to dissipate into their original places before turning to Beast. _This must be the primal representation_, thought Emma as she began to read through a much simpler but more pointed account of the library scene.

Apparently, Beast could translate the pheromones of others into emotional states. That could help. Emma would be able to get an idea of the motive of the shooter. If he, she, or they had one.

Men and women in the room, it read. Vanilla perfume two rows back and one to the left, lavender perfume at the front beside Raven. Cherry soda opened and jingling keys three bookshelves past the last row.

Halfway down the proverbial page documenting his memory was what Emma had been looking for.

_Something outside. No, someone. At the left, main window. Raven's nervous, keeps looking at the window. Small lake-like study area with a few students studying beneath trees. _

_Nicely trimmed grass. Two benches. More people feeding ducks. Border of pine trees on the far side. Movement._

_Dark clothes. Hanging back in the trees, behind at least six. Hiding up in a tangle of thick branches. Messing with something. Strange…TURN AROUND, TURN AROUND! MOVEMENT IN THE LIBRARY!_

_Charles on the floor. Erik over him. Gunshot. Glass. Panic._

_Sounds incoming from the broken window. Outside panic. Fleeing ducks quacking in fear. Branches snapping, feet pounding. The scent of a male covered in cheap cologne – hate, shock, disgust…nothing…then, indifference, delayed smugness and reassurance._

Nothing.

"Your shooter was male," revealed Emma. Hank allowed himself to flush a purplish-blue at the fact his memory helped diffuse looming shadows of curiosity hanging about the matter.

"Any idea about the motive?"

"There were several emotions there, on that man…" Emma said as she narrowed her eyes and looked skyward as if Charles' ceiling held the answers. Because she was going on Beast's recollection and his disjointed, basic senses, Emma wasn't sure what to make of her findings.

"Like what?" Charles pressed.

"Hate, shock, disgust…indifference…smugness…and, strangely, reassurance." answered Emma, using fingers to represent the emotions. It was an odd mix any way she thought about it. "Is anyone out to get you, you know, aside from the anti-mutanists?" probed Emma as she watched Charles' eyes for an answer. A brief association was often made – whether people knew it or not – between certain individuals and strong emotions like hate. If any one particular person had accosted Charles with fierce hate, she would know.

"Aside from the usual hardheaded men and women, the bigots, no." frowned Charles.

"We may not have a face, but we have a starting point." Hank began to cut his own path through the mystery Emma attempted to decode. Having her in his mind roused Beast's recounting of things and that helped Hank greatly. Now he had proof of what he feared, that Beast could present himself a separate conscious and unconscious entity. Alongside that revelation he had the shooter's string of emotions. He was no psychologist, but the emotions made sense.

"The shooter aims at the library, thinking about how he hates mutants – that's the hate – and Erik unexpectedly saves Charles thus foiling his attempt at murder – that's the shock and could be the source of the disgust, that he was stopped by what he despises – while presenting him with no other option but to run or be discovered. He then decides to run and remain unidentified. His indifference stems from the knowledge that Charles is alive and that he'll get a second chance to finish his business, whatever it may be, which brings in the smugness and reassurance." Deduced Hank as the others at the table looked at him curiously.

"Wonderful," swallowed Charles, trying not to look outright nervous as he tapped his fingers on the table.

"So this man's going to try and hurt Charles again." Raven frowned, clearly upset. The deduction was enough to move her from her seat so she could embrace her brother. Charles had never done anything but good, Raven thought as she buried her nose into his curly hair, so why would someone want to kill him?

"Not if Erik has anything to say about it," Emma guaranteed. She produced a copy of the morning paper from her white tote bag. Charles' attempted assassination had easily made front page. **RICH SCHOLAR, MUTANT PROMOTER, NEARLY SILENCED**, said the paper. Raven's lips thinned as she resisted ripping the paper to shreds.

Of course the paper would hint at his wealth in order to draw readers. It was disgusting. What if the one shooter was part of a group? What if the next shooter was after Charles' money because of the paper? What the paper inadvertently caused people to hate Charles – for his opinions and his ridiculous wealth – enough to form a horrendous anti-Charles group?

The ideas sickened her. What sickened her even more was the fact that it all seemed possible. Damn humans and their greed, their hate! "Can't…breathe…" She returned to the present to find Charles gasping through the fabric of her clothes and trying to remove her burrowing fingernails from his face.

"Sorry," Apologized Raven as she sat beside him, rubbing his hand instead. That wouldn't suffocate him.

"Erik's one man," noted Hank. "This paper could easily draw more enemies out of the woodwork for Charles. What's Erik planning to do about this?"

"Erik has already established a defense." Stated Emma as she crossed her conversationally. She indulged in sip of sweet tea, highly amused. Had it really not occurred to them yet? "_We_ are his defense," continued Emma.

"The Mutant Escort Service?" mumbled Charles, sure that his eyebrows would be swallowed by his chocolate curls. "I have an entire company backing me?"

"Naturally," Emma tried not to purr happily as it all dawned on them. Sometimes she forgot telepaths were rare. She'd been using her telepathy for so long that the line between general realizations and telepathically-foraged knowledge was blurred. Charles blushed a humbled pink and Emma could see why Erik was quick to warn her of his childishness. _Addictive _childishness is what he'd said, but Emma decided not to pursue that strong description.

"Humans – forgive me, Charles – are naturally weak. Wired with desire, desperate for sex. The Mutant Escort Service, though not totally founded no that notion, does offer that service. Our clientele ranges impressively, much like your house." Raven shot her a dirty look and Emma ignored it. She happened to _like _luxurious things and wouldn't withhold proper praise. This was perhaps the finest place she'd been to, and Emma had been booked on yachts and even flown out of the country for a few parties. "In short, we can get places others can't."

"You can circumnavigate the law, essentially." Hank arrived at her sugar-coated conclusion. Emma pierced him with sharp, scolding eyes.

_You're lucky this place isn't bugged, _Emma told Hank mentally, causing the young man to jump at the sound of her huffy voice in his head, _it's called covering your ass. Try it._

_I'm wearing pants so I _have _tried it. It's working well for me, thank you_. Hank scowled, daring to unleash the tiniest of growls because of her. Emma snorted, wrinkling her nose in return. "Only if they're dragging their feet, which they _are_." Emma drew out of Hank's mind for Charles' and Raven's benefit. He wasn't human, and she hadn't been talking to either one of them at the time Hank chose to blurt carelessly in the open space of the kitchen. His house may be safe now but if someone really wanted Charles dead it wouldn't be for long.

The government didn't like mutants; anyone could see that. Mutants were a threat to the centuries-old idea of "normal". Anything that caused a stir, didn't fit the mold, wasn't received well in the media. It was downplayed and distorted into something monstrous until people did what the government wanted: shunned it. Fought for the extinction of it.

Therefore, if the government really wanted mutants gone, they had to remove them subtly. New laws confining them, requiring them to go through more screening than the average person, would receive extensive backlash. Cause a riot, even. The safest way to quiet them would be to snuff their inspirations. Inspirations like Charles Xavier.

"So what do we do?" Raven looked to Emma for guidance. She was from the service that now vowed to protect her brother because of Erik. Emma was a seasoned escort; she had to have connections that rivaled if not surpassed those of the police and media. The woman pursed her glossed lips, lounging back in thought.

"Erik hasn't gotten that far. This whole thing hinges on him. He's calling the shots. Organizing meetings will be trickier from now on – I was safe to come directly to his house because I can alter memories."

"Yes," Hank sniffed. "Things _will _get messier from here on out. Charles' estate will already receive attention due to the police but having a number of Mutant Escort Service members meet here could prove costly. Especially if the shooter in question hates mutants."

"And isn't alone," Charles inserted himself into the conversation. The idea of being shot at yesterday, of being saved and ferociously, protectively pinned beneath Erik, had thrown his world off its axis. Introduced to the idea that he now had a supporter in all members of the Mutant Escort Service added another layer of confusion to his mental processes. It was wonderful but really clarified the potent danger wanting to eradicate him.

"Aside from that, things will get messier because their target range will expand. It starts with Charles but, rest assured, Hank will catch their eye. He is both mutant and brilliant, and could likely worm his way into an institution held in high regard. That would both upset the mutant group and inspire other mutants to test these invisible, vague boundaries."

"I've been documenting myself post-secondary mutation. I have a heightened healing factor so they won't be able to kill me as easily as they could Charles."

"They may not want to murder you, not right away." Her phone chimed against her hip and she stood. "That's my client," Emma announced as if to apologize. "I didn't want to take him but Erik insisted I did. If I can find anything, this will make or break his main theory," added the telepath as she flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder, collected her bag, and walked towards the door. 'We'll talk' mouthed Emma as she waved and retreated down the steps towards her personal car. A small silence lapsed at the front door as Charles and Hank watched her climb, unharmed, into the pinkish-white car and drive away.

Their conversation bypassed noon and Charles cursed. Erik had expected to hear from him _at _noon and it was currently half _past_ noon. Fumbling with his phone, lacking coordination with it for the first time in his life, Charles checked his call history to call Erik back. Like a secretive schoolgirl he hid in the safety of his room, heart slamming hard against his ribs as a full ring failed to fall between the two phones. Halfway through the first ring Erik picked up; all Charles could hear was ragged, rasping breaths.

He was pretty sure Erik was foaming at the mouth and spitting fire on the other side of the phone.

"VERDAMMT_ CHARLES! IT IS _TWELVE THIRTY_! WHAT WERE YOU DOING?"_

"Talking to Emma, _as you arranged_!" exclaimed Charles, his voice rising in defense of himself. He didn't want both of them to be yelling, and he technically wasn't, not in the way Erik was. Lehnsherr had composure, yes, and managed to keep people in Manhattan from hearing his worry and displeasure, but Charles knew enough about people to know when they were fuming and teetering on the edge of control. A large, long sigh filled the phone and Charles could practically hear Erik exhaling all of his stress.

_"Has she left for her appointment?"_

"Yes."

_"Good, I should be hearing from her at five."_

"What are you doing, if I may ask?" Now that Erik's furry had ebbed Charles felt like he could prod about his activities.

A pause.

_"Training."_

"Emma spoke a bit about that. Did your employer demand it?"

_"No. I'm logging personal hours."_

"Ah," Charles was glad Erik couldn't see him. His cheeks bloomed with redness. Was he training, maybe, because of him? It was a bit obnoxious to think so, Charles figured, but the idea that he might still came to mind. Still caused his heart to gallop.

His palms to sweat.

"Well, obviously I'm disturbing you so I'll leave you to your training."

_"I'll keep in touch, Charles."_

"See that you do, Erik. I still think that bullet has something to do with you and your organization."

_"Emma will be able to shed light on that. One of us is right." _mused Erik.

"And what if I'm right?" inquired Charles as he leaned against the wall.

_"You'll get to hold that over my head and I'll let you live while doing so."_ Charles was sure that was meant to come out as a joke but Erik's intense training and stabilizing breath made it sound like something of a raspy devil's bargain. It sent shivers coursing through Charles. He chuckled nervously. _"And what if _I'm _right?" _Erik twisted Charles' question around until it was left to weigh on _him_.

"I don't know…what if you _are _right?"

_"You're supposed to decide something, Charles." _Erik gifted him with a very brief laugh. Charles sighed through his nose, running his fingers through his hair. Erik was such a tease, the bastard, and he probably knew what an awkward position he'd put him in.

"You'll stay with me," murmured Charles. _Mostly for your safety but also because…I want you to._

_"Pardon?"_

"So I know you're safe," explained Charles, "you'll stay with me so I know you're safe. Honestly it'd work out for C

_"Oh?"_

"Aren't you the one who wanted to…oh, what was it? Ah, yes, 'scare the piss out of anyone that comes across you for the next twenty years'?" tried Charles. He knew that's what it was. Unfortunately his Lehnsherr impersonation was off because: a) he wasn't Erik, and b) he was British so he was going to sound odd anyways. Uproarious laughter exploded from outside his bedroom door and Charles scowled, cupping the phone as if it would make Erik unaware. The laughter was mostly Raven's but he could hear Hank purring, too.

Honestly they were like a pair of children!

They were imitating characters that he reminded them of, obviously. Charles cleared his throat as Raven adopted the posture of the incognito evil queen from _Snow White_. Hank responded in kind with something he vaguely recognized as _Lord of the Rings _material. "Oh piss off, both of you. Hon_est_ly!" growled Charles.

_"Did _the _Charles Xavier just curse? You're coming over to the dark side." _Teased Erik. Charles paused, intent on picking up a serious conversation. Then Erik's words really sank in.

"Did _you _just make fun of me with _Star Wars_?"

_"I have to go…"_

* * *

Surrounded by free-hanging punching bags, Erik had a number of placed to rest his head. Plenty of objects to concuss himself with if he so chose. He wanted to after hanging up the phone with Charles. Really? _Star Wars_?

And earlier, with the pheasant? He was insane!

Erik growled, dabbing his face with the towel draped around his neck. Shaw would've had his head for using a company phone on non-company business but overlooked it his time. Mostly because he was talking to Charles Xavier. That worked in his favor for two reasons: Charles had been a client and Charles was fighting for mutant rights. Angel Salvadore clucked her tongue behind him, chuckling in the husky voice men loved.

He vaguely recognized that laughter as the activation of her 'Love Radar'. Erik, of course, believed in no such thing but Angel insisted she was quite the cupid. Both literally and figuratively, considering her mutation. "And _what_ are you laughing about?"

"You are _sunk_!" claimed his coworker in sure glee as she swayed her hips from side to side, floating in the air, and did a backflip. Erik rolled his eyes.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"In an hour, yeah," She laughed, tossing glossy black strands of hair over her shoulder. "Don't _you_?" Angel teased.

"That's why I quit," informed Erik as he tossed the sweaty towel in the waiting hamper and collected his small duffle bag. Angel followed him, her wings humming annoying close behind.

"Sure it is," teased the young woman, exaggerating the first word just to shorten Erik's nerves. It was working well, he had to admit. "You wanted to call your boyfriend so you took a break," Shrugged the girl as she shot skyward to avoid Erik's lazy swat.

"That's _not _what it was and if you don't quit listening in on my conversations I shall provide a very curious and interesting activity for your next appointment," threatened Erik. Angel rolled her eyes.

"What are you gonna do? I spit acid."

"I didn't say I had to get close to you to do anything," remarked Erik as he tried not to sneer. Angel's outfits were small but always had something metal on them. Though lethal and coarse, she embodied the softness and sexiness the Mutant Escort Service was known for. She was, by far, the most honest and highly-booked exhibitionist. He didn't really want to know what she would be roleplaying today – when he'd seen her training in a tight leather suit with no obvious panty lines, meaning she wore none, THAT had been enough – but figured it would involve tiny underwear (if any) and something submissive and erotic.

Angel hissed, acidic spittle launching from her lips as Erik used his power to unzip her jeans and invert the zipped until it pressed against her in a most uncomfortable way. It was a way she was used to, he imagined, but it didn't mean she liked it. Everyone had their own reasons for joining the Mutant Escort Service. Few of them were for personal pleasure. "You better step off, Erik. I'd hate to back out of this little…spy party you have going."

"You wouldn't back out," Erik paused at the doorway, bag hanging off one shoulder, "you love getting into trouble too much."

"And you're in a whole lot of it," mused Angel.

"Exactly. I need company." He flashed a wry grin before walking towards the showers. The Mutant Escort Service was largely based in New York, so this was the finest center, but there were smaller branches elsewhere. Shaw was a businessman who couldn't stand not having connections. Not leaving his mark on every place he visited. Erik thought he had too much time and money on his hands; it was evident in the row of showers that could easily fit two of his apartments in it.

Showers weren't meant to be glamorous but these were. Erik felt like he was bathing in the remains of a Greek city as he eyed the dividing stall supports carved in the style of towering columns. The showers were a creamy, spotless ivory with portions of finely cut marble acting as holsters for any personal effects. He would have just enough time to rid himself of sweat before packing up to meet Mrs. Minch. She was, perhaps, the oldest client registered in the Mutant Escort Service's database.

Nearing eighty-six, Erik was surprised she could operate a computer, much less see the information fields required to schedule an appointment. Unlike his other clients she wanted nothing of him but company. Mrs. Minch was too old for sex and didn't want for anything in particular but to have a theatre partner who could hear. Erik was the only one comfortable with the portable oxygen tank and rhythmic wheezing she experienced as her regular breathing. She was on her last leg, and knew her days were numbered, so Erik saw no harm in treating to what she wanted.

He knew little of _Priscilla Queen of the Desert _aside from the fact it would perfectly fill the time window where Emma would be busy. By the time he returned Mrs. Minch to her retirement home and checked in on Charles – for himself; he trusted Emma _enough_ but didn't trust her wholeheartedly with Charles – he should know something about the shooter. About the MES. It was unlikely they'd get all the answers they sought in one night but getting something was a blessing at this point. They were stumbling in the dark, only aware of the fact that something was watching them.

Watching Charles. Waiting to get him.

Thinking of Charles in danger, of someone wanting to hurt him, quickly ruined Erik's mood. He pushed those thoughts away before he became too irritable for Mrs. Minch. Finishing up, drying his hair as best he could, Erik threw on cleaner – tight and proper – clothes. She was seated like a patient, bright-eyed cherub in an overly-plush chair when he arrived, grinning toothily with most of her real teeth. Dressed warmly maroon and black, she took his arm while walking with the support of her wheeling oxygen tank to move across the room towards his car.

Like he did every third Sunday, he drove her to the theatre. Mrs. Minch survived her husband of sixty years and endured a brief stint of mental trauma at the loss. Her remaining children decided to put her in a home. They were busy raising their own kids, and Erik could understand, but according to the book he was her only visitor. That was intolerable.

He didn't mind, though. Her kids didn't know what they were missing. Mrs. Minch's perfume may be overbearing, but she was sweet. Within the hour they were nicely seated amongst the other avid theatre fans. One look at the brightly clothed actors and actresses hiding behind the curtain was all Erik needed to know this would be hell. "Oh look, how cute!" Mrs. Minch patted his arm excitedly and Erik forced a smile.

He wished he could say the same about this obvious train wreck-in-waiting.

_Drag queens, transsexuals, and disco…what more could a man want?_ Erik wondered as he barely resisted the temptation of clawing his own eyes out. He was tolerant, of course, but there was only so much obviously overdone makeup he could stand. It was clear the makeup was meant to be exaggerated but looking at it just made him cringe. Mrs. Minch recognized most tunes and often disappeared in her own little world, humming, smiling, and clapping. The only bearable part of this whole idea – besides the idea of making an old woman happy – was the knowledge that his payment for this outing would cover the cost of the tickets.

Overheard the Westchester skies darkened. Erik was actually a little past five by the time he fought the crowds and returned Mrs. Minch to the home. He would've finished much earlier if she didn't think going over forty miles an hour was a sin and capable of causing death. It was coming on five fifteen as he dialed Emma while driving to Charles' house. No answer, and Emma hadn't called him like she was supposed to.

Was everyone forgetting him today? First Charles and now Emma! "_Verdammt_ woman pick up your phone!" snapped Erik as he parked in Charles driveway five calls, two messages, and twenty minutes later. He huffed, throwing his phone against the dashboard before sitting in silence. Right now he wanted nothing to do with the damn device!

Silence settled in his vehicle, allowing him to calm down. Charles' front door was open but that was because Hank stood guard, blue and watchful against the entrance. Erik was sure he was glaring at him, even from that distance, and scowled. He finally stepped out, tucking his phone in his back pocket, and nodded to Hank. "You were in there for a while," observed the blue creature, "concocting an alibi?"

"I'm not trying to kill Charles," growled Erik, "I saved the man, remember?"

"What else could those initials mean?" Hank snarled to him as they tried to squeeze through the front door at the same time.

"I have my theories. None of them include my work, if you'd like to know."

"What _do _they include?"

"They—"

"You need to see this!" breathed Raven, tearing in from some other room. Erik hadn't even known she was in the house. Usually she was vivacious and noisy but the house was quiet. Too quiet, now that Erik thought about it. He assumed they'd had a recent visit from the police, and their presence inspired a somberness in the house.

Any other time he paid attention and now he wasn't. He was really falling off the ball here. Erik scowled, mad at himself, and thought about kicking the table supporting a flower-speckled vase until he remembered whose house he was in. The overwhelming urge to reanalyze the yard of tire tracks or notably misplaced piles of gravel called him away until Hank grabbed his arm.

"It's about your work," She repeated. He would've ripped himself away from Hank while spouting choice words if not for Raven. Erik didn't liked to be touched by people he hated. They hurried to the closest TV-friendly room where Charles sat frozen stiff in a padded chair. His forehead was wildly creased, blue eyes twinkling sadly in place of the undoubtedly lips no one could see with his face bowed into his hands.

MUTANT BODY FOUND BEHIND UPSCALE RESTAURANT read the bold tagline at the bottom of the screen. Raven squeezed Charles' shoulders soothingly as the reporter continued to jabber on about the developing story. The reporter was being exceptionally vague because of the newness and the fact that the victim was mutant but Erik knew enough. He knew that was Emma lying dead behind the restaurant, probably dressed to the nines in pristine white, thanks to the headshot they used from her Mutant Escort Service profile. "Ms. Frost was a prominent figure in the Mutant Escort Service, seen on countless billboards and in many advertisements. This time she's made the headlines for worse, for the last time, as a victim of strangulation…"

Everything faded away for Erik. This was an elaborate mess, he realized, and this was only the beginning.

"It's past five," croaked Charles weakly as he fought the lump in his throat, "did you get your answer?"

"Not verbally, but that will do." Erik motioned to the TV before turning it off. Emma would be missed but Charles didn't need to be bombarded with death again. Not so soon.

"And what did you arrive at?" questioned Hank as the uncomfortable silence caused by Emma's death, the loss of a supporter, settled in.

"We're dealing with the government."


	4. Chapter 4

The Mutant Escort Service

* * *

**AN: **Thanks to Sjl, Courty, JessMW, Extra-Fried-Noodles (thanks for decoding UST, by the way), and JBubbles for the reviews! They're super encouraging! Haha, I got up at three AM to scribble down my ideas for the next five chapters because they just suddenly hit me, like WHAM! and I couldn't pass it up.

WARNING: these next few chapters may be a bit hairy with further character introductions, but bear with me. It'll all smooth out, I promise.

Oh, by the way, disregard that whole YouTube movie thing. Thanks!

* * *

Chapter Four: An Angel Falls (But a Lead Surfaces)

In the two weeks since Emma Frost died everything went to hell. Or looked like it did, anyways. Erik had a feeling they weren't actually there. Enraged mutant riots threatening to overtake the local news building and police station were evidence enough of the societal divide. Mutants swore the police were deliberately putting Emma's case, a mutant's case, on the back burner while trying to quickly solve someone like Charles Xavier's, a human's.

Sebastian Shaw, founder of the Mutant Escort Service, came out on more than one occasion to assure the public that the police were doing the best they could, and that Charles' case nor Emma's was being solved particularly fast. He'd turned over Emma's log and the police were following up on her buyers, but a lead hadn't been found. Not yet. Erik suspected that – Emma, being the greedy girl she was – her killer wasn't actually listed. Often times Emma was known to book a select few and then charge excruciatingly high fees for last minute add-ons but allegedly made it worth the price…whatever _it _was.

Erik sat dutifully at Charles' laptop, anxiously refreshing his Mutant Escort Service inbox in hopes of seeing a message from Angel – four twenty-seven PM. No message. Four twenty-eight PM. No message – while trying to ignore the fact that his finger might fall off before anything arrived. His coworker claimed to know Emma's last living thought. Said something was wrong in the way Emma just disappeared, literally and mentally. "Something cut her off," Swore Angel before Shaw silenced them all thirteen days ago to hold a somber meeting on Emma's behalf. Since Emma's death they'd been ordered to call when they left the main office and call again when they arrived to their escort.

Since Emma's death Charles had been quarantined to his sprawling mansion by Erik's insistence. It wasn't safe for him outside. If these people wanted to attack mutants, they clearly still had Charles in mind. One way to hurt someone is to hurt something they care dearly about. Erik could smell their ploy to draw Charles out a mile away.

Thankfully it wasn't working on Charles. Mutants were exercising more caution, too. The ones in the Mutant Escort Service were safest; Shaw had activated a protocol that wasn't to be broken for any reason.

They were to call on their way back to the main branch or their place of residence, and if they didn't Shaw would activate a retrieval protocol. That, of course, meant the nearest Mutant Escort Service members would be paged or a nearby police car would receive a distress message. Thus far, Erik hadn't been paged. That was a good thing, but his nerves were on edge already without the added responsibility of running to someone's aid. His nerves were just naturally short and taut because those were his defense mechanisms for survival.

Both were in overdrive now. Charles being nearly shot was difficult to take, but Emma being strangled after meeting with them turned Erik's stomach to ice. Confirmed the suspicion that they were probing in the right direction – or he was, at least – if Emma had been killed for helping Charles and the others arrive to Erik's conclusion. It was simply a question of 'Who next?' and Erik awaited the answer unhappily. At last, with a _ping!_ Angel's e-mail arrived in his inbox.

Erik opened it, Charles' protective anti-spyware giving the attachment a clean bill of health. "What the hell is this?" Asked the metal-bender as he squinted at the word document. It made no sense! Sentences started reasonably but then devolved into nonsense that would have the makers of Merriam-Webster volunteering to pull their own eyes out. Or, conversely, they started with rubbish that highlighted two perfectly normal words before losing any sort of logic as the period approached.

Hank leaned over, morning paper held loosely in his sharp claws. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his furry nose before folding the paper. Angel had purposefully scrambled her word document before sending it, meaning the original message was saved – intact and understandable – elsewhere. Meaning what she had to say was important enough to hide. "It's her message," Hank all but shoved Erik out of the seat as the puzzle taunted him like a siren's call.

Erik stifled a grunt as the powerful blue arm slammed into his shoulder, nearly causing his chair to hit the floor like he did. He tried to save his dormant, burning fuse of anger by rationalizing that Hank was still adjusting to his newfound strength. Something in him, however, said that rationalization was incorrect. If Erik didn't know better he'd say Hank was _smiling_ as his lips twitched, mumbling indecipherable words while he perused the document. "Obviously," Sneered Erik, "but what's _wrong _with it?"

"She scrambled it. It's a fairly common procedure for those who don't want the content stolen or intercepted."

"Can it be reversed?"

"Of course. There are actually programs that unscramble documents." Said Hank, tapping delicately on the little keys looking like playthings beneath his hands. Thanks to _Google _he found one in minutes. Hank applied the program to the document, watching it speed through the lines to hastily reconfigure it. Angel's message was, essentially, a page-worth of distraction and a few lines of good information.

_Erik,_

_Found a good lead on Emma's murder. Some guy named Eamon. Have an appointment booked today for six tonight at the Hilton. I'll let you know what I find._

_- Angel._

_P.S: Going to Emma's vigil? We're having another one outside city hall tonight. I'm going after the appointment with Eamon._

How the hell did Angel have a lead? Well…she did say Emma had contacted her moments before going quiet for the last time. Erik ran his fingers through his hair, wishing some of his fury and the stress headache would disappear. Unfortunately things like that couldn't be muscled into submission like his hair. Who was Eamon, outside of one of Angel and Emma's clients?

_Angel,_

_No I'm not going to the vigil. My energy is staying in the Xavier manor. These people mean business if they went out of their way and managed to kill a telepath. I won't apologize because it's merely the understandable thing to do. Don't hesitate to use your pager button if he proves to be trouble._

_What was Shaw's meeting about? Unfortunately, I missed it, but I had to. Keeping an eye on the Xavier manor is exhausting but I'm being paid well._

_All the best,_

_Erik_

"What did you find?" Inquired Charles as he offered Erik a cup of coffee. If his mind wasn't already buzzing with questions about Eamon Grover, Erik would've taken it. His mind was too wild for coffee at the moment. Aside from the looming, impenetrable, unreachable mystery centered around Charles Xavier and his bold crusade to make humans and mutants equal Erik was thinking of, well, Charles. Charles outside of this obvious manhunt.

"She's following a lead. We'll hear from her by six." Replied Erik as he gently closed the laptop and allowed himself to finally sip coffee. It was his second week in the Xavier household and he still felt on edge. His little apartment was the closest thing to permanent he'd ever had, and that was tolerable for a one-person space. He wasn't sure what to think about waking up in a mansion because he'd never had the need for anything so large in his life! Erik's heart broke just a little when he thought of Charles and Raven – just Charles and Raven – nestled in ridiculous lavishness and quiet away from the rest of Westchester.

That was like a curse all its own, wasn't it? Being alone? Having the money for anything but not having everything one desired? Erik imagined the lack of constant company, constant interaction, was why Charles had such a hard time talking to people. "Or sooner," Teased Charles as Erik showcased a moment of rare surprise and grabbed his buzzing phone. _Check your e-mail_, demanded the text.

Baffled, he logged back on to his Mutant Escort Service account. This time Angel didn't bother with obscuring her message.

_I got 'em, I got 'em got 'em got 'em! Fucker's got a missing patch of skin courtesy of my acidic spit! Let's see him demean mutants NOW!_

_P.S: The meeting was about how Mutant Escort Service members could specify who they were representing as we helped you guys out. Emma told us a bit about Raven and the science geek so we've unofficially formulated a plan. If we're there for Raven, we'll compliment her eyes (you know, because they're fake?). If we're they're for science nut we'll quote Shakespeare. If we get your British babe we'll say something like 'Cheerio!', haha._

_If we're there for you, and you alone, we'll say something about metal._

_- Angel Salvadore._

_Sent from the Pocket Escort app on Android_.

He paused. She really got him? Angel had her own way of handling things so Erik couldn't be sure what 'got 'em' entailed. Was this man still alive? According to her text his shoulder – at the very least - had been wounded.

_Where are you?_ Texted back Erik, rather slow. He hated texting. Sending e-mails was much better. _Are you okay? Why was that last message so rushed?_

He sent the message and his heart pounded. Angel was taking a long time to respond. _Don't take her, too_, growled Erik dismally in his mind, _not when we're finally beginning to figure this out!_ Ten minutes later Angel replied.

_Sorry dude, had to book. Guess he didn't think I'd put those gags to good use ;). But no, seriously, I had to jet before the maid or something came in. I'm hiding in the protest outside city hall. Turn on the news; I see Channel Five cameras here._

"Let's move to a TV," Suggested Erik as he pocketed his phone.

"Why?" Raven wondered as Erik logged off of his account again and tried not to slam it too hard. British babe, what was she thinking?

"Angel's hiding out in a protest crowd featured on Channel Five." Said Erik as Charles nodded and moved swiftly towards the same TV they'd used two weeks ago.

"If she's caught on camera and gives us a signal, how will we know? I'm afraid I don't know sign language," Lamented Charles.

"I read lips," Informed Erik as Hank turned on the TV before Erik could damage it with his power. The old-fashioned TV knobs for the volume and channel rattled as waited restlessly.

"Oh really?" Piped up Raven, intrigued. Her wolfish grin and twinkling eyes said there was nothing innocent about her curiosity. Erik eyed her with steely blue eyes, wondering what avenue her mind ventured.

"Yes," Erik mumbled, keeping his answer succinct so she couldn't possibly embarrass him.

"Can you read Charles' lips?" Erik looked to Charles. He smiled wide, impressed and intrigued like a young child would be. For a moment Erik paused, eyeing wide, red, _red_ lips. Glazed like candy and smooth like silk. Plump and waiting, a sign of virility and innocence.

"I could if he was mouthing something," He tried to make the observation sound dry if only to compensate for the time he'd spent floundering for something to say. Damn Charles and his lips! His eyes...

"Mmm," Hummed Raven into the soda carried from the kitchen. "Maybe you can practice with him later, you know, stay sharp and all." She wiggled her eyebrows and Charles cleared his throat. If he reached over and slapped her that would just be a red flag to Erik. He didn't need anything else exposed to the metal bender. Being shot at left him vulnerable enough, but that vulnerability didn't compare to the feeling of being bare and fragile and the hopeless romantic fear those steely eyes inspired.

It stripped him to the very core, ripping away all logical defenses until he could only swallow with a thick tongue and count how fast his pulse raced beneath hot skin. When Charles looked at Erik he felt like every piece of him was being analyzed, committed to memory. A void-like sensation numbed his mind, hushed his thoughts, when he looked at the older man; it was the biggest sign of being stupefied with attraction. _Good god_, thought Charles only slightly worried, _can I really be in love with him? I…I've never loved a man_. But when he looked into Erik's eyes, especially when said eyes were focused and reflecting multicolored hues that livened the silver specks in them, he knew the tingles, the fluttery feeling, and sweaty palms were because of him.

Knew that meant he loved him. Or at the very least liked him more than he should, given the circumstances. Of course, relief coursed through Charles as he began to talk himself through the improbable (but entertaining) idea that he was attracted to Erik. It's a result of Nightingale Syndrome, obviously, or Hero Syndrome. Something…

"That's Angel!" Erik pointed to the screen, voice much softer than his lightning-quick, confident point. A girl wearing a short black jacket over something that looked very risqué (a corset partially covered by a miniskirt connected to boots by straps, maybe? Charles couldn't tell) kept her head down. Occasionally her brown eyes would scan the crowd, catch the cameras, and then look away. She'd deliberately put herself at the front of the protest, looking incredibly small and out of place next to the violently shouting, picketing mutant protesters. Her perfectly glossed lips opened, forming a series of shapes.

She would wait a beat and then do it again.

Erik poured his focus into the TV. He was beginning to concentrate so hard that the antennas threatened to concave. Her mouth pulled up at the corners, lips parting from her teeth slightly in what would look – to the untrained eye – like the beginnings of a smile. No, 'S'. It started with 'S'.

Her mouth opened a bit wider, edge of her pink tongue slipping under her two front teeth. That was an 'L', Erik knew that much. Few letters of the alphabet had the tongue exiting the mouth like that. Angel's lips curled back against her teeth again as she dropped her jaw, imitating her famous spitting pose seen in the training room. She tended to hiss in an 'E' sound before spitting because it charged her spittle, and Erik began putting the syllables together.

"Silky," Erik shot up, mind racing as he tried to pace but found himself confined by furniture. And Charles, of course. Hank knew better than to sit by him but Raven was there, watching curiously with her leg outstretched too far for him to like. She would trip him, wouldn't she? Honestly, the woman needed to make up her mind!

One minute she was giving him a death threat with yellow eyes – like their first encounter – and the next she was encouraging him to read her brother's lips! _None too innocently, ether_, considered Erik. "Wait, wait!" Charles grabbed blindly, desperately for Erik's sleeve as he weaved through an ottoman two old armchairs. He caught Erik by his left elbow, telling himself their contact wasn't near as long as it felt.

"What? Can't you see I'm trying to—"

"She's saying something else," Huffed Charles, bristling at the curt tone Erik dared to use with him. Erik frowned, quieting as he planted his arms into the back of Charles' armchair to better see the TV. The sensation of Erik looming over him, even if he wasn't looking at him, took Charles' breath away. Made his neck hairs stand on end. Lehnsherr recognized Angel repeating 'silky' before moving on to her new word.

She looked to bite her lip, teeth bearing down on her lower lip. That was an 'F'. Like the 'L', not many letters required that deep of an impression into the lip to make the sound. Her mouth shrunk, puckered into something small that extended her lower jaw; 'O' would have elongated her cheeks, and since that didn't happen Erik assumed the syllable contained a 'U'…maybe an 'R', too. Angel's lips popped out like she was trying to make foggy bursts of air on a chilly winter morning before her tongue roped around the bottom of her front teeth again.

After that word she held up a folded cloth napkin in her hand. One that was clearly embroidered with the signature Hilton logo. Thus far Erik had 'silky' and fur ball. Wait…fur ball was…was Hank. Hank was furry.

Her face disappeared as the camera retreated, grabbing a larger picture of a yelling crowd composed of mixed emotions. Some had tear-streaked faces, others were so angry their faces were red, and some were in mid-spit at the city hall employees frantically pacing the steps of the building. They didn't feel safe enough to leave, and the crowd was sizeable enough to block any easy route to the parked vehicles. Pro-mutant, anti-human, police-defaming signs swung threateningly when the officials dared to extend their ankle towards a lower step. Other signs, signs with Emma's face on them, were shoved forward in hopes of throwing them off balance.

Cameras began to shrink back entirely as sirens deafened the loud shouting on the live footage. Police formed a protective barrier before the officials and waved their batons warningly when talking and pushing motions didn't seem to work. More police cars began to trap the rioters. Erik could clearly see the heads of seated, waiting cops questioning the brilliance of stepping into the fray. One of the occupied police car windows rolled down, displaying a full hand.

_Tear gas,_ seethed Erik's furious mind, _they're using tear gas!_ He didn't feel his fists clench, or his fingernails dig into his palms, but knew his emotions were getting the best of him when the TV groaned and the box began to lose its supporting screws. The live image was lost in a haze as silhouettes of all shapes and sizes fled.

"C'mon, chap. Let's have a game of chess to calm your nerves." Offered Charles.

"No chess," Snarled Erik, sure he would fracture his normally toothy smile to pieces.

"Fine, a drink then."

"I don't _want_ a drink!"

"Someone once told me 'Most people don't want what's good for them, anyways'." Charles looked over his shoulder to Erik, hands stuffed boyishly into his pockets. Erik pinned him with a furious glare. He wasn't mad at Charles so much as he was mad at Charles' clever maneuver. Damn man! As if Charles could read his mind, sense his ebbing rage, he grinned brightly like a victor.

"Alright I'm coming," growled Erik as he pushed away from the chair so hard it rocked back for a second.

"Ah, fantastic," Charles flashed him another brilliant smile. "I thought I was fixing to have to use the 'client' card on you. You know, the whole 'I'm paying you to do things with me'."

"Woah, Charles!" Raven jumped up, winking at Hank as she did so. "I don't think you need to spend your family fortune on _that_!"

"Shut up, Raven!" Demanded Erik and Charles simultaneously.

"Just looking out for you, you know, like you do me making sure I don't spend recklessly. At least get your money's worth!" She encouraged as they retreated towards Charles' study that was lined comfortably with books and furnished by classic, plush armchairs settled next to a roaring fire. Raven was laughing almost too hard to keep up her teasing, and Hank wasn't helping. "Hey wait, just checking, is Erik doing things _with_ you or _to_ you?"

"SHUT UP, RAVEN!" Hollered two voices.

* * *

Erik gladly took the brandy Charles offered as they played another game of chess. He needed it to steady his nerves. To muddle his mind so it couldn't successfully process Raven's jabs and consider them seriously. He hadn't known Charles as long as his other clients but Erik certainly bonded with him quicker. Maybe it was the suave way he carried himself; equal parts refined, old-fashioned, friendly, and innocent.

Or maybe the whole idea about Charles being the only human (that Erik knew of) fighting for mutant rights was the catalyst. Would he do things with Charles or to him? Hypothetically, of course. Charles was soft-spoken, brilliant, and liked to fling open his arms to anyone with suffocating amount of affection and good cheer at the ready. Acknowledging those traits, Charles' need to include people and make them at home, Erik guessed 'with'.

But, then again, considering his personality – one many people related to that of a ruthless shark – maybe it would be 'to'. He was a rather coarse individual. By comparison Charles was ridiculously soft, and short. Erik was tall and reserved, his wardrobe and hard eyes conveying the domineering attitude. _Most definitely 'to'_, mused Erik as he eyed those red, red lips split wide in a confident, dazzling smile reflecting the faintest hint of roaring orange firelight. They were playing chess far earlier than they usually would, drinking earlier, too, but Erik could understand that Charles was disobeying his schedule for his sake.

It was rather endearing in the addictive, annoying childishness way he had about him. He'd lost count of how many games they'd played, and who was winning. When Erik considered a move seriously his mind and eyes would drift to the placement of pieces. Where could he move so that he and Charles might touch hands? Erik was in the business of providing people unusual, interesting dates but was utterly clueless on how to initiate the contact outside of a business setting.

Hell, it'd been a while since he'd dated someone just to _date_ them. His life was consumed with dating for money, and it left him feeling closed off and empty. He was beginning to see people as items, as a means of surviving, but not Charles. Charles was forcing Erik to realize that he had relationship issues, contact issues, trust issues, and denial issues about his functionality with people. "Are you alright, my friend? You haven't moved your piece in a while." Noted Charles, glancing at Erik tentatively across the small table.

"I…I need to get some water. Don't want to drink too much. We have to go to that science soirée thing tomorrow," Erik waved his hand dismissively. Charles wasn't directly involved in that; Hank had entered his invention and Charles intended to go along as support. It was also where they were supposed to meet the next Mutant Escort Service member, apparently. Half the time Erik didn't know if he was coming or going anymore; between directly guarding Charles and relaying information to his work while coordinating rotating assistants was dizzying. Maybe that's why he wasn't sure how to feel about Charles…

On the one hand, Charles was his customer. On the other hand, he wasn't. He was unlike anyone Erik had ever met before; he didn't push, didn't nag, just joked and welcomed him regardless of the circumstance. Always entertained him, and became overly enthused at his mutant status whereas others did not. He was like the light at the edge of Erik's consciousness; the 'angel on his shoulder' Erik thought he was too selfish and undeserving of.

"Water doesn't combat the effects of alcohol, you know," Slurred Charles, always the scholar. "Only time," Hiccupped the younger man as he excused himself and lost himself gazing fondly into the warm embrace of the fire. They'd started drinking shortly after six and it was almost eight thirty. Usually they didn't drink until ten or better, but tonight was an exception. Being German, Erik was literally – genetically – engineered to handle copious amounts of alcohol.

A drunken Charles was the perfect cover for him to receive payment from Raven. He didn't know why he was sneaking around Charles in his own house, much less feeling like he should _have_ to sneak around, but it felt right. According to Raven, Charles wasn't very socially bold – he could fake it, oh yes – because of a fragile heart lying behind that creamy British cover. Imperfection and rejection were two things Charles Francis Xavier didn't take well. Erik thought the sight of him accepting money from Raven would look incredibly incriminating.

Give Charles doubts about the solidarity of their relationship. Friendship. Whatever the hell it actually was as opposed to what Erik wanted it to be. Raven and Hank were hunched over a Monopoly board game when he found them in the kitchen. "Where's Charles?" Raven kept her golden eyes trained on the board, cackling as Hank landed on Boardwalk, which she owned.

"Evil woman," Frowned Hank as he handed over the fake money to his blue friend. "That's the third time I've landed on the damn square. Do you know how statistically unlikely that is? Are you using appropriate dice?"

"Yes, Hank. Don't be such a sore loser. You can't win at everything,"

"I don't win at everything," snorted the furry male, "I just figured since I'm so good at science that I could avoid your damn properties for a while...calculations and such."

"Not a chance in _hell_." Purred Raven amusedly as she twisted a lock of red hair around her finger, readjusting her posture to that of a proud, gouging victor. The high-held chin and too-wide smile complimented her nicely laced hands. She was the perfect picture of confidence and allure despite her scaly body.

"Hopefully my chances of getting paid are better than his odds of winning," Erik inserted himself into the conversation, chuckling. Hank replied with a snort, resisting the urge to growl. He really didn't like Erik. If it wasn't for Charles—!

"They are," smiled Raven as she dug through her purse to find her wallet. In the process of unearthing the thin container two dice buried deep in the side pocket were forced from their hiding spot. _That's what I get for trying to hide square objects in a flat space_, frowned Raven as Hank nearly hit the ceiling with surprise and victory.

"I _knew_ it!"

"Oh shut up," Raven grumbled, rolling her golden eyes at him. "If you knew it why have I been able to use those dice for the past twenty-five turns?" She teased. Hank quieted, snorting at her and wrinkling his nose. She licked her fingers to count out six crisp tens, having nothing larger.

"Y-You're takin' an awful long time to get water. Then I thought I should come and find you, well…I thought it but it didn't work so then I got up to come and find you. You always seem to get l-lost in here. S'big house, i'nnit?" Charles stumbled into the kitchen, smirking happily with flushed cheeks. He paused, glassy eyes calculating the scene before him. Raven was putting money in Erik's hand. Why was she putting money in Erik's hand? They were giving him room and board with free food.

What could he possibly need money for? Receiving money implied that Erik had done something considered as 'work'. Meant he'd offered a service in exchange for the bills in his hand. _Oh god…_Charles' foggy brain finally concluded, _she's paying him to…to be with me_.

He felt his heart drop and his stomach churn. Charles felt like throwing up but knew it wasn't because of the alcohol. _How could I be so STUPID?_

"Charles, are you—" Raven began.

"Piss off!" He snapped, stalking back to the study. Raven physically recoiled from the harsh remark. Charles had _never_ said that to her. It was also a first to see him drunk _and_ angry. Her brother was usually a jolly drunk. She looked to the money waiting in Erik's hand, drawing in a strangled cry of disappointment.

"Oh no," She moaned.

Erik dropped the bills to the counter as his mind processed what was happening. "This is my fault," He claimed. If he hadn't left Charles alone in the study, and hadn't watched Raven and Hank play so long, Charles wouldn't have come looking for him. More importantly, if he'd just been honest with Charles he wouldn't suspect the worse. "I'll handle this," Lehnsherr started towards the study.

Charles moved incredibly fast, incredibly well, for a drunk person. He had to remember Charles was an experienced party animal, though, as unlikely as it seemed. Raven said he held a few bar records in Oxford for his drinking feats and clearly alcohol had done nothing to impair him if he was a genius and a professor at the age of twenty-four. Erik heard the study door slam thickly and shook his head. Clearly Charles was drunk enough to forget he manipulated metal.

Erik opened the door easily, watching Charles stalk towards the array of bottles at the back wall and snatch one up. "Didn't I tell you to piss off?" growled Charles, daring to glower as he put his lips back to the bottle.

"Charles, you're drunk—"

"No, chap, I'm drunk when I pass out. Right now I'm clearly…mostly…cognizant. I'm coherent enough to see that I've been played for a fool. _Again_." Mourned Charles disappointedly into the bottle. There was such a bite to his words that Erik could hardly believe that this was the same shy Charles Xavier he'd met.

"What are you—"

"My father died when I was young. My stepfather was always gone on business and my mother was a drunken bitch who ran away from her problems by getting to the bottom of bottles," Sighed Charles through his nose. "You can thank that wonderful arrangement for my lackluster ability to handle people and the amazing consistency in which I get suckered in by people with the hope that I'll finally establish some normal, social relationship," He chuckled dryly. "You can also thank my mom for showing me how to drink." Charles raised the bottle in a toast to his absent mother. Erik had no idea what to say.

"You'd only get suckered in if I tricked you, which I haven't." Pointed out Erik, crossing his arms. Charles snorted, eyeing him skeptically with glassy blue eyes. Blue eyes that looked a lot like his, pre-Charles, because of how hateful they were.

"So you say," Continued Charles.

"I _do_ say," Erik nodded, speaking a bit louder in case Charles' mind was playing catch-up.

"Well _I_ say piss off!" Charles turned his back to him, finishing the bottle of brandy they'd been working on for two weeks.

"I'm going to piss you off but I won't piss off." Erik flexed his dominant hand and curled a lone finger inward. That was enough to call the metal of Charles' belt to him. The drunken man spun suddenly and flew to him. Charles collided with Erik's torso, trying to push himself off, and looked down when he heard a clicking sound. Lehnsherr had looped Charles' belt through his belt loops. There was no escaping him now.

Erik was so infuriating! Charles settled for head-butting him when he couldn't escape. His pants were too tight to wiggle out of. From Erik's control over metal, he thought, but wasn't sure. Charles' brain perceived the dwindling fire, soft orange-red glow, and Erik's glinting blue eyes as something twisted but romantic. "Release me or I shall bludgeon you and you will sorely regret keeping me in close quarters." Warned Charles.

"Why would I regret being close to you?" Whispered Erik, infuriated and honest. He'd realized a long time ago the easiest ways to be honest for him included sarcasm and rage. There was no smoothness to him, and he admitted that. He was all coarseness, rage, and dark thoughts masked keenly by a sharp mind. Charles faltered, hands that once fought to separate him from Erik relaxing as they smoothed over the taller man's broad shoulders.

"You…what? Do you mean that?"

"Why would I lie to you? More importantly, why would I protect you from a bullet if I didn't want to spend time with you?"

"I…I 'unno." Shrugged Charles, vaguely hoping his lips weren't wobbling like he felt they were. Erik chuckled, rolling his eyes at Charles' best contemplative-while-drunk-and-sleepy face.

"Sleep on it and tell me what you think in the morning," Erik instructed as he unhooked Charles from his person and heaved him over his shoulder. He was surprised that he could carry Charles, but not by much.

"You clever bastard…" Mumbled Charles into Erik's shoulder as the world swam and swayed with Erik's gait.

"Thank you," Grinned Erik as he tried not to let his hand wander over Charles' ass since it was near the proximity of his face. He was holding Charles to him by the space just above the bend of his knees. If his fingers branched out and managed to feel a bit, oh well. That was the consequence of keeping a drunk man safe. Erik safely deposited Charles in his room.

Charles reached up, motioning for him to stay, and didn't have to ask. Erik, albeit a bit nervous, settled in beside him. He told Raven he'd handle it, and he would. Charles was largely incapacitated because of him, _he_ drove him to drink, so Erik only thought it fitting that he watch over Charles and prevent him from asphyxiating on his own vomit. "S'just like the library." Commented Charles as Erik removed his shoes and socks before returning to his side.

"Yes," Erik carded his fingers nervously through the back of Charles' silky, curly locks, making sure the man faced the other way where he could spew to his heart's content if the need arose. "Just like the library…I'm right here, Charles."

* * *

The door creaked and Erik's sleepy brain jumped into action. It was like the intruder flipped a switch in his body. Erik flung the door open, noticing with immense alarm that Charles was not beside him where he should be. "It's just me," Hank called loudly as Erik ripped the door from its hinges and crushed the bolts and hinges into piercing darts ready to mutilate him.

"What do you want?" Snapped Erik, feeling rudely awakened and wrongfully disturbed. He half-rolled to read the nightstand clock. It was two in the morning.

"Angel's dead." Muttered Hank, frowning. Erik scowled, tossing back the bed sheets furiously.

"How?"

"Come with me," Urged Hank. Grumpily, Erik followed. He took a fraction of a second to grin at Charles who lay at the base of the toilet in the connected bathroom. Even when he looked like hell he was pretty cute. Lehnsherr scratched at his wild bedhead before following Hank to a more advanced TV situated in the lab.

This one had the ability to pause, rewind, and freeze programs. Angel was largely covered with a white sheet, her pretty face exposed. Her eyes were closed and atop them sat tiny buttons about as big as the ones seen on formal vests. Unfortunately, the TV did not have a 'zoom' option so the design on the buttons could not be seen. Erik could see, however, the localized red stain where her sex would be and the smaller red wounds ruining the sheet near her abdomen.

She'd been stabbed multiple times and had endured some form of genital mutilation.

"Do you think anyone else caught her message?" Hank looked to Erik.

"I don't know," Admitted the Mutant Escort Service member, "but I do know she really found something if she was killed for it. It's no coincidence that Emma got a hold of her and she wound up dead, too. Tomorrow we'll rip this wide open."

"Today, actually," Corrected Hank. "It's two in the morning.

Borrowing a page from Raven's book on their earlier conversation over Monopoly, "Oh shut up."


	5. Chapter 5

The Mutant Escort Service

* * *

**AN: **Sorry for the delay! I've been really wrapped up in my _Avengers_ story lately, and still am. Plus I'm working on some original stuff on the side. Thanks to YoshisSupport, Muchacha, Ebba, JBubbles, JessMW, and Extra-Fried-Noodles for reviewing the last chapter (and yes E-F-N, people are safe xD)‼ And to everyone else who've been favoriting this story and waiting patiently.

This was not read over because of the late hour at which I finished it. Sorry for any errors!

* * *

Chapter Five: Ripping it Open

"…and that, therein, explains the usefulness of my nominated device." Hank waited for Charles to comment, swallowing nervously. The speech explaining his mind-reading device was memorized, but he craved input. Needed someone else besides Raven and her brutal honesty to better understand how to tailor his message. It was a science function, so his audience was bound to understand, but that knowledge didn't ease Hank's nervousness. He was essentially a walking science experiment to those old-fashioned geneticists and feared critiques on his experiment would be superfluous in the face of their intrigue concerning his transformation.

Hank McCoy bowed to the lingering doubt in his mind, silently agreeing that it would've been wiser to do a project about himself versus this…_thing_ he'd concocted. Something he was fondly calling Cerebro for its relation to the human mind. The blue mutant adjusted his slipping tie and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Charles?"

"I…I hear you Hank." assured the man dressed in a fine, soft suit. It was a pale blue that darkened his usually shining eyes. "I'm just…" Charles trailed off, motioning to his head with a slight grimace. Hank smirked slightly.

"Suffering from an ungodly hangover still?"

"Quite." sighed Charles as he stood, sipping from the glass of water Raven gave him. Because Charles didn't trust himself to swallow pills with how shitty he felt, they'd been dissolved into his drink.

"I'll soon be joining your ranks," promised Hank.

"I thought you didn't like drinking?"

"I don't. I was referencing the headache club. Erik's still working on your door."

His displeased snort reminded Charles of why he chose to hide in the study. The study was calming and a fair distance from the muffled buzzing localized near his room. Charles vaguely recalled Raven giggling about his broken door as she gently hosed him with water from the detachable showerhead. How the door broke, how he ended up sleeping in the bathtub, was a mystery. If his head could bear it, Charles intended to see Erik.

No one seemed to know what happened after he ran off into the study. Bits and pieces of last night came back to him throughout the day. At breakfast he regained the slightly-fuzzy memory of stumbling into the kitchen. Erik, Raven, and Hank were in there at the time. Something about money…and pain…the pain was especially fresh and clear.

By noon glimpses of dwindling firelight came back, as did the feeling of a glass bottle in his palm. The rest of it was obscured in the haze of his headache. He'd been lost in his own mind for nearly five hours with little to show for it. Raven interrupted him long enough to get dressed, and then had one moment of pride where _she _threw his calendar in _his _face. Usually it was the other way around.

"CHARLES!" Raven stomped into the study with a pout, "MAKE ERIK GET DRESSED!"

"I can't just _make _him! He's—"

"DO IT! We're late as it is! Just be happy Hank's not the first speaker!" Raven pointed out the door, pinning Charles with a glare that made him huff. He was the older one, why did she seem to have the control? Because he wasn't fond of saying 'no', that's why! That, and Raven couldn't use the right form of persuasion. She was better suited for sensual persuasion and displayed a heavy boredom and weakness in trying to appeal to people intellectually.

Raven was smart, truly brilliant, she just hated applying herself. Hank and Erik weren't a good combination to have in a small space – which is why he wondered about the safeness of Erik entertaining the science meeting – so the task of convincing Erik Lehnsherr fell to him. _Joy_, thought Charles as he rapped on the wall outside his room. Erik turned to look at him over his shoulder, kneeling by his half-repaired door. The twinkle of amusement in his steely blue eyes told Charles that Erik had answers.

"I assume Raven's sent you as an ultimatum?" Erik turned back to his work with a small chuckle. Poised to reply, Charles halted. Erik's muscles rippled as he drove the drill into the metal plate acting as the new hinge. The controlled buzz carried up into his chest but Erik seemed unfazed, the perfect picture of focus. He was beautiful; coarse but intelligent.

"Something like that," mumbled Charles as he laced his fingers together behind his back. Erik could right this in a matter of seconds! Why waste time doing it this way? As if Charles had sent the inquisitive thought into Erik's mind, the other man straightened and turned to face him, an unashamed grin creeping across his face.

"There's a certain delight to be had in teasing you Xaviers." he mused, pushing the protective goggles off his face and into his hair. Erik tried to work without them, but Raven was convinced he'd lose an eye and remain unable to escort Charles. Aside from that, there was the underlying motivation to avoid the resident doctor. With a flick of his finger the surviving metallic square and bolt buried into the door. Charles Xavier's bedroom door was restored and Erik was free to collect the drill and power cord before Raven strangled him with it from exasperation.

"Shall I tell her you're getting ready now?"

"Are you going to head-butt me if I take my time?" teased Erik smartly. Charles paused, turning to walk away since he trusted Erik to get ready on his own. The older man chuckled as Charles turned three-quarters of an inch and glared.

"What do you know that I don't?"

"Oh, so you don't remember then?" Erik leaned against the doorway casually. Oh _god_ there was so much to work with here! For a moment or two he debated filling Charles' head with a steamy, scandalous and totally false account of last night, but thought better of it. He'd made his view on cheaters and liars very clear in the study.

"Obviously not!"

"Oh, touchy." smirked Erik. Charles Xavier was nowhere near as quick as he'd been last night. This was the polite Charles he preferred. The Charles from last night wasn't unlike himself: cynical with a sharp and damaging tongue that complimented his rage. "Touchy" was a good descriptor of him though; Erik thought he'd been hallucinating last night when as he laid in Charles' bed thinking about their quarrel.

His hands stayed too long on Erik's chest. He realized most of that was slow, drunken surprise, but the feeling was burned in his brain. Charles Xavier had long, pale fingers that curiously pressed and skirted every inch of his shoulders as he futilely attempted escape. It filled Erik with an aggravating and unquenchable heat. "We had a talk," Erik explained, not caring to go into details when Raven expected him to be dressing.

Telling Charles what really happened may put them in bad sorts before Hank's event. Erik noticed Charles relax slightly. Did he anticipate something worse? He didn't see how last night could've ended badly – what Charles would've called 'bad', he would not – when Charles was more angry than loose. The idea amused him as Charles left muttering something unintelligible, and he went to dress.

Erik didn't have an official tux, but could pass by fitting into the black tie mold. His black blazer was buttoned over a plan white dress shirt with a collar and folded cuffs. The metal bender managed to lift his collared shirt and hide his clip-on bowtie from sight as he came down the stairs. It was centered and straight by the time he walked past Hank towards the car where Raven sat impatiently. Hank drove, as Erik wasn't stupid enough to sit in the front with Raven.

"So what is this about, exactly?" Erik asked from the backseat.

"It's essentially a meeting. At least once a year scientists from various universities congregate to talk about advancements, request project help from like minds, and mingle with…_guests_." informed Hank. Erik stiffened at the way he said "guests". That was the wrong way to say that word if those guests were simply scientists.

"What kind of guests?" probed Erik, not liking the sound of that. He felt like a man walking to the guillotine.

"_Special _guests." Hank replied, taking a few big fingers off the wheel to flex them.

"Government operatives?" questioned Erik, not really looking for confirmation. That's what it sounded like! A science meeting was the perfect place to snoop for the latest technology to employ in battle. Or against mutants. How could Hank possibly agree to something like this?!

Hank's strangled, dying noise of denial was the confirmation Erik needed. "Are you stupid?" hissed Erik in disbelief. "How could you? You realize they're not interested in you, but in what you're making, right?"

"I'm no idiot, Mr. Lehnsherr. Let me be the first to warn you: continue to demean me, or my work, and I'll stop this car to beat you." Hank's lips curled and Erik could see his sharp, white teeth in the mirror. He wasn't afraid of a furry blue man. Shave away all the fur and what was he? A lean, aging man caught somewhere between awkward and feline.

"Easy Hank." soothed Charles.

"I know a lab rat when I see one!" grumbled Erik.

"Quit picking fights, Erik!" Raven growled from the front passenger seat. She already wasn't happy with him dallying on purpose. Nothing annoyed her more than a man purposefully wasting her time.

"Now Erik—" Charles began to admonish.

"OOF!" Hank had long legs, and tried not to move things around too much seeing as how the vehicle wasn't his. However, upon seeing that the seat could relax a bit, he released the lever. The seat flew back into Erik and left him winded. Pleased with the extra legroom, and with Erik's silence, Hank purred.

Erik responded by tightening Hank's and Raven's seatbelts. Raven was equally guilty for provoking him.

"Erik's tightening my seatbelt!" whined Raven to Charles. "I'm wearing a strapless dress, I don't want an imprint!"

"CHILDREN, PLEASE!" Charles called out loudly in the tiny car. They quieted, disappointed at being compared to children. "Thank you." he gave a quick sniff to fix his angrily racing pulse. His mood was ghastly before the commotion in the car. Erik clearly knew things he wasn't sharing; Charles was a bit worried as to what he hid.

No one spoke for the remaining twenty minutes of the drive. Hank found a parking spot with minor difficulty and the standard banter resumed once the first car door opened. "I hope Silky isn't a nickname owed to manly, furry arms." stated Erik coolly before joining Charles and Raven on the sidewalk as Hank locked up the old-fashioned car with his device in hand. He scowled, gesturing for Raven to lead the two men inside before the idea to maul Erik became too tempting.

Hank wrote off his rudeness by reminding himself that Erik would be squirming soon enough. At the very least, it would be interesting to watch. An old correspondent, Oliver Platt, was allegedly attending. He and his partner, Moira MacTaggert, tried to recruit him to the CIA once upon a time. The young scientist endured a brief stay before becoming uncomfortable with information being withheld and secrecy reigning over logic.

He was looking forward to seeing Platt and Moira again. They would be the few friendly faces in the shock and fear. Most of his colleagues hadn't seen him since his transformation. To his relief, Moira and Platt were waiting at the door with their CIA badges when the doorman tried to deny him entrance. Charles, Erik, and Raven were waiting with the viewers since they weren't presenting anything.

Moira and Platt escorted him to his large, reserved room where the other half of Cerebro waited. It had been too big to transport by car. Taking it apart was a breeze after the many months he spent working on it. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Dr. McCoy." Platt shook his hand after Moira.

"You as well." Hank gave them a nod, beginning the task of reconnecting the nodes to the helmet-like piece, the main piece.

"If possible, we'd like to speak with you after the displays finish up. Is that alright?" Moira wondered.

"I suppose." Hank smiled as they shook his hand one last time before joining the others. He lost himself in attaching nodes and checking the course of power. The genius listened to wires and boxes hum before placing the device on his head. Cerebro was designed to glean the _true _emotion from a person's mind – mutant or human – when spoken to. He created it – in part – to help the mutants understand that Charles was honestly on their side.

He hoped it would bridge the divide between humans and mutants. His animal nose caught the scent of something floral and vanilla. Someone was in the room with him. Had he managed to catch a saboteur unaware? "I'll ask you to come out before I seek you out. The latter route isn't pretty." Hank said, peering past the luminescent helmet to survey the room with yellow eyes.

"Boldness be my friend, or yours, rather. I suppose with your size you've got no problem calling out potential enemies." remarked a female voice. Hank pushed his gasses up on his nose, looking down. A young, short blonde smiled softly. That was Shakespeare, he knew, but to think that she may be his escort was nothing short of ridiculous! A typewriter began to work furiously, spelling SURPRISE.

Her green eyes flicked in mild interested across the invention, grinning at the word. "Am I not what you expected, Dr. McCoy? I suppose 'Silky' makes it hard to imagine what I'll look like." she mused. AGREEMENT, wrote the typewriter. A jade green dress looked painted on her petite form, tight across her narrow torso, small bosoms, and svelte hips as it pooled around her feet like silk water. It reflected the light of Cerebro; the genius winced as his glasses caught every other twinkle of light.

He deduced Silky was a description of her attire. She seemed rather soft. Her voice was mouse-quiet and gentle. "I wanted you to see what I look like. I'll be handing off a _present _after your speech." announced the young woman.

"Who are you?" Hank switched off the device before a thought of how she reminded him of sweets he so desperately craved could be translated into an emotion. He never did well with women. A device that could read his mind may not help that. He was prone to erratic thought patterns peppered with basic male appreciation.

"I'm your escort." the girl smiled, curling strands of wavy blonde hair around one finger absently. He could smell the shyness on her. It relaxed Hank to know that there were other people who shared his awkwardness.

"Did Raven appoint you?" Hank couldn't help but ask. He doubted most people would jump at the chance to be his escort, Mutant Escort Service or not. His blue fur shed, he had claws, and mumbled constantly. It was mostly due to self-consciousness.

"Not at all. Erik told us who was involved, and I volunteered to meet you. Never thought I'd get the chance." she laughed. "I've been waiting to meet you for a long time, Dr. McCoy." Hank was stunned. People only wanted to meet him before his transformation. The ones who requested his company now were either old friends or similarly distressed mutants exhibiting horrendous changes.

Few of his seekers looked like her. The girl had a humble shyness about her. "Can I, uh…can I ask what for?"

"You gave me the courage to walk outside." her green eyes crinkled with the smile, accented by mascara and eyeliner. Hank gave her a curious stare. He was a bit skeptical, as she looked normal. She responded by glowing a bright golden-yellow color. It couldn't overshadow the blonde of her hair, but she was definitely an abnormal color. A chime-like tune filled the room as her skin shimmered, every inch of her glittering.

Hank swallowed, closing his mouth. The genius purred reflexively, sensitive fur absorbing the heat she radiated. He blinked yellow eyes, watching the glow recede into pale skin tinged with yellow. "Shall we?" she offered her arm.

"I…o-of course!" Hank let her little fingers rest on the wealth of blue fur peeking past the boundary of his tux arm. She surprised him again by levitating. Her pale golden skin intensified a bit, appearing a more even yellow as she met his height. He felt his mouth open up in the smallest of _o_'s as the long dress brushed the floor. "This is _fascinating_! What's your mutation?"

"I'm not entirely sure what to call it. I'm heat-based, but my abilities manifest on a cellular and visible level. I depend on light and heat for energy."

"And you're…you're flying." he marveled, nudging the bottom of her dress with a foot. He could feel nothing but material. She grinned.

"I am. You can't tell because I have a long, thick dress, but I'm actually using the light to sustain myself."

"Amazing! You're giving the light a corporeal form! I think you'd make an interesting case study on the incorporation of thermodynamic laws in everyday life." Hank grinned brightly, mind feeding on a smorgasbord of information. The variety of the X gene never ceased to amaze him.

"I think you just want to study me." she teased harmlessly, glossed lips turning up in a crooked grin. Hank flushed, hoping she couldn't see the purplish spots against his blue fur. The young woman didn't give him time to fumble for his dignity. "I'll be waiting with Erik and the others once you finish. Good luck, Dr. McCoy."

"I can't thank you properly for such graciousness if I don't know you. Your codename seems far too impersonal."

"Call me Sparkle."

"Thank you, Sparkle." Hank stooped to kiss her hand as they entered the crowded, circular room dressed richly in red, gold, and ivory. A rainbow of tuxes and grand dresses colored the room. Clinking champagne flutes served as a metronome to the murmur of blended conversations. He gave her the smallest of smiles before moving to the side reserved for speakers.

Sparkle sauntered elegantly through the clustered attendees, skin toned down until it resembled the faintest dewy glow she could muster. Surprisingly, no one commented on her height or lack of visible shoes. The "gracefully floating" look was in, she supposed. She'd purposefully picked a long dress to accommodate her ability to fly. It allowed her to see – when she usually couldn't due to her short stature – and help Erik patrol the room.

Tuxes and crowds were merely different types of coverage for a murder. According to her fellow Mutant Escort Service member, trouble seemed to follow the illustrious Charles Xavier. She was here to ensure trouble didn't occur. Unlike Emma and Angel, Sparkle didn't die easily.

It was quite hard to kill a regenerative mutant.

It was far easier to kill a human. Erik Lehnsherr was trying with his eyes, but to no avail. Sparkle could spot his sour expression from a mile away. He'd made himself famous in the Mutant Escort Service for being emotionally versatile. Usually he didn't show raw emotion, just tailored himself to the client's mood. She was surprised to see him glaring so openly.

Either the woman in a dazzling black evening gown didn't care, or wasn't aware. Erik's smoldering blue eyes were drilling straight _through_ her.

* * *

Every fiber of Erik detested these suits. They weren't in actual uniform, but they didn't need to be for him to know. The woman approached them, touching Charles' arm gently before launching into a series of compliments about his bravery and genetics work. It was a load of saccharine bullshit if he'd ever heard it. He could've tolerated the doting and graciousness if Charles wasn't being so…so receptive to it.

He was humbly receptive, as per his character, but it wasn't right! Charles was perfectly fine talking to _him _before _she _came along. Erik would be lying if he said he was anything other than agitated. This woman seemed very sensible, very logical, and looked to be deliberately stealing Charles' attention. She touched him too much for Erik to like.

_I may be adopting Raven's suspicions_, conceded Erik. Raven told him female escorts were out of the question due to their overwhelming wealth. Aside from defending Charles against an errant bullet, he felt connected to Charles. It was mostly due to that night in Charles' bed when he lay drunk and perfectly childish. Perfectly hopeful and tender-content to have Erik and just to _hold_.

It was a rare sentiment for Lehnsherr. One that threatened to defrost his cold heart. That made Charles very special. He refused to let a government woman – an operative of the organization letting mutants get slaughtered without thorough investigations – come between them. Charles made a genuinely nerdy and delighted remark about the auburn hair gene.

Erik snorted. _He _had that gene, too! Why couldn't Charles be strangely, intelligently suave and touch _his _hair? _God, Lehnsherr! You're like a jealous woman! Man up and take care of this!_

"…are you going to try Dr. McCoy's invention? He'll be doing a few live demonstrations in the room." Moira explained before gently nudging Charles' fingers away from her brown locks. She tucked a section of hair behind her ears, making Charles chuckle. Xavier always had fun when women blushed; it didn't happen as often as he liked. Alcohol was the key to the latch of his reserved mind. Once he found an equally drunk woman all of those intelligent lines and confident gestures sprang forth like a gushing well.

His unashamed desire to understand the human mind, to log the possible conversational responses before they spoke, was no longer perceived as nerdy. Then, under the influence of alcohol, he seemed dashing and intriguing. Few called him a dork then. He was in such a spot now with the delightful Moira MacTaggert. "No, no, no." Charles shook his head. "It's not for me, really."

He'd asked Hank not to use him. Charles had too many things going on in his head to provide a viable test subject. God forbid the machine spit back OCCUPIED. Thankfully, it couldn't deduce the source of his impediment. If it could, talk of the fanciful advancements would be shot to hell.

The entire room would be wondering why Erik Lehnsherr was on his mind. Charles couldn't get over how easily Erik stayed in his room. It was hard to remember why Erik was there, but Charles felt content and calm for the first time in a while. Raven had grown entirely too old and independent to share his bed anymore. His studies and accomplishments made him seem like one who preferred solitude, but that was not the case.

For as awkward and idolized as he was, Charles liked company. It was just hard to _make _company. People typically felt out of his league due to his money or his mind. Both topics were usually the reason for conversations; no two topics could turn him off quicker. Charles could recount few times where he was actually pleased to speak with people.

When he wasn't comfortable, he withdrew. Eventually, he forgot how to talk to people. Erik Lehnsherr was steadily reviving him. The man had some sort of magnetism – unattributed to his power, or was it? – that compelled him to speak. He was perfectly charming and cruel, able to shut people up with a single glance.

It was amazing! Charles could feel the societal expectations and leash of propriety loosen when he was around Erik. There was little more comforting than that.

"That's a shame. I bet your mind would really test it!" Moira laughed.

"You're being overly gracious, Ms. MacTaggert. Got some bad news for us?" cut in Erik coolly. Congenial personality or not, Moira was being too sweet. Something was amiss.

"I don't think it's really _bad _news." she shrugged, purposefully avoiding Erik's question. That was enough. He knew, then, that they were here for more than just observation.

"Care to explain?" offered Erik, failing to be as inviting as he sounded.

"I take it you'll be borrowing Hank's invention?" assumed Charles, "It's not the first time." he swirled the champagne flute idly.

"Well, yes." Platt readjusted his thick glasses. "We think it'll be beneficial to anti-terrorism and things of that nature."

"What about anti-mutanism?" Raven asked after sipping her flute.

"That too." Platt nodded.

"It's good to know you'll actually be able to do something now. You know, have hope for progress and all. Hank's invention should really speed things up." Raven flashed them a fake, pissed smile. There wasn't a mutant alive who liked their investigation pace. What, were they waiting for a certain number to be killed? If this rogue group had any other motivation – racial, political – they'd have suspects by now.

Erik grinned into the bittersweet champagne. Charles cleared his throat, poised to apologize, but the dimming lights silenced him. The speakers were aligned in neat chairs, waiting for their turn at the microphone. They were seated two tables from the stage. Moira and Platt joined them, much to Erik's displeasure.

She was settled on Charles' right; Erik was on his left. He didn't know if Moira was toying with Charles, or just setting up an atmosphere that would get her more information about McCoy, but Erik knew he didn't like it. That was all he needed to know. Though she had a pretty face and approachable personality, Moira was everything Charles hated. Erik distinctly remembered him speaking ill of people who "sucked him in".

She was doing just that. Erik's nerves screamed with rage. He still wanted to retaliate for being snuffed. Charles didn't mean to ignore him, but he was. Lehnsherr was rather selfish in that respect; once he'd given his time and spent a rare moment with someone like he had Charles, he expected similar treatment.

He wasn't getting said treatment with Moira hanging idly at Charles' side. Erik easily ignored the speakers – except for Hank's because that required movement for the demonstrations – as he invested himself in watching Moira. She was clearly a snake waiting to sink her teeth into a rich man. All human had rather strong, simple flaws like that. His blood boiled when she sashayed her way next to Charles as they moved to Cerebro's designated room.

Her hand would brush his. She would say something inquiring and partially intelligent that made Charles light up. It all made Erik sick. Raven seemed to share his sentiment, gagging at them. All of Hank's explaining had been done at the podium.

His volunteers consisted of Oliver Platt, a young blonde woman with green eyes, and the overseer of the gathering. Platt and the young woman – only known as Sparkle – replied honestly the question of whether or not they were biased concerning mutants. The overseer's interview was cut short when he proved to be biased. Erik resisted the urge to cringe, grab Charles by the folds of his suit, and shake him as Moira took notes. She had clearly been buttering Charles up to create a relaxed tone, and was now taking notes on a machine made by a mutant for the purpose of government use.

Erik wanted to shoulder Charles and run. Run like hell. That combination – Moira's friendliness, her note-taking, the interest in Hank's invention – was a recipe for imminent disaster. It was easy to see Moira facilitating the end of mutant kind as he knew it with that device. She'd go after Charles first, then everyone else.

She was allegedly unbiased, like her partner, but that didn't mean she wouldn't take her job versus her beliefs. Most humans were fickle. Erik betted Moira would save her own ass before she would Charles'. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes Cerebro's demonstration." Hank turned to them, gesturing one last time to the powered-down machine. Polite clapping echoed in the tiny room.

Hank blotted anxiously at his furry brows, discreetly tucking a handkerchief with a claw-sized tear into his breast pocket. Everyone except Raven, Charles, Moira, Plat, and Erik filed out. The blonde test subject lingered at the doorway in her long dress. "You're going to confiscate my device, I take it?" Hank flashed them a dry grin as he began to disassemble the device.

This, he expected.

"Not _confiscate_!" Moira replied quickly, almost sounding horrified.

"We want to _borrow _it for study." Platt added.

"There's nothing to study. I could tell you everything about it. You merely need to ask." Hank popped nodes off by the handful. Whatever the government wanted, they usually got. His machine was no exception. The young man was but a mutant scientist – one person – against the entire government.

"We'd like to implement it into investigations." Moira further explained.

"I'll give you permission to do so." Hank said after a moment or two of silence. "It will make mutants seem more compliant. Such a thing might encourage more time and effort upon mutant affairs, don't you think?" his question wasn't a question; it was a statement. The indirect agreement for his device was better investigation of the mutant deaths. Erik felt a speck of pride for the blue mutant.

"Of course!"

"I expect that it won't be used for ill means. If it is, and I catch wind of it, I won't hesitate to ruin it." Hank finished undoing the device to give his government friends a long, piercing stare. His golden eyes were effective in accenting his polite threat.

"It's just for matters of security." Platt promised.

"And criminal investigations." Moira swore.

"Before I sign this over to you, and release any relevant documents, I want a written statement saying that you'll send me what you can on matters Cerebro is used for." he crossed the arms of his suit.

"Already drawn up." Platt opened up his suit to hand Hank a stack of stapled papers. Their first visit was to analyze the device and get the name. He then filled in the copy-and-paste document of acquisition before he and Moira rejoined the other attendants. Hank spent a few moments looking it over. After deeming it acceptable, he folded it and handed it off to Raven.

He had a machine to move, and couldn't hold the papers. She had a better chance of hiding it in her purse – clutch, whatever it was. Hank didn't pay attention to fashion – in case anyone wanted to intercept it. Platt, Hank, and Erik moved the machine outside. A large, black van waited patiently by the curb. Loading the invention didn't seem out of place; many people were packing up their contributions to go home and tinker with them.

A few wealthy browsers had even purchased showcased prototypes. Companies were here, too. Surrounded by humans, few bothered with the success of a mutant's work. "Thank you again, Dr. McCoy." Moira shook his large hand.

"A pleasure, Ms. MacTaggert…for now." Hank tried to smile. Moira and Platt were really, truly good people. He just didn't like the fact that Cerebro was going to the government. His time there hadn't been as wonderful as he'd hoped. The equipment was unparalleled, but the people…that left something to be desired.

"Nice to meet you, Charles." Moira flashed him a sweet smile as she opened up her door and prepared to slip inside. Erik's patient biding had led up to this moment. She'd created her own demise, really. The seatbelt was pulled across her abdomen, hesitating before the buckle as she flashed brown eyes at Charles and smiled a bit too long. Erik readjusted his bowtie, giving his fingers an alibi as he wiggled them.

Her seatbelt clamped into the buckle as the material pinned her against the seat. Platt finished securing the device as her door slammed shut. Platt scrambled to investigate her yelp. The van roared to life, another door slamming curiously hard. They sped away, leaving Charles to glare unpleasantly at Erik as Raven giggled.

"Now what was that for?"

"Just looking out for your best interests. Wouldn't want a woman sucking you in and stealing your money." replied Erik nonchalantly as he finished messing with his bowtie. Charles snorted skeptically, but Erik knew he was off the hook. That full-lipped smile blossomed on Charles' face.

"And I'm looking out for yours, Dr. McCoy. I noticed you ruined your kerchief. Here's a _replacement_." the young blonde clicked up to them, her heels invisible beneath the flowing dress. Hank absently stuffed the remains of his handkerchief into the depths of his pocket. That would be embarrassing for anyone else to see. People really _would _call him an animal. She tucked the little black box into his breast pocket, tiny fingers gently brushing the material of his tux.

"Th-thank you, Sparkle." Hank stuttered, juggling speaking, breathing, and swallowing.

"Not a problem. It was a pleasure to meet you. If it's convenient, I'd like to schedule my complimentary call tonight."

"It should be doable." Hank resisted the urge to rock back and forth on his large feet. Being perfectly still and composed in the company of the opposite sex was impossible.

"Great! Here's my card." Sparkle fished a tiny white card from the depths of her long, green clutch.

"I thought your name was Silky?" Erik had never really spoken to this woman before. She was new to the escort business, as he recalled.

"No one really knew what to call me. Angel got the idea from my clothes. I have…interesting tastes." Charles knew he had to get Hank out of the area. His friend's pupils widened at the statement. McCoy constantly struggled with his inner animal – a set of instincts that manifested pre-secondary mutation and stayed post-secondary mutation – and right now he was losing. "The name I picked suits me better."

"Indeed it does," managed Hank, words somehow audible over a constant purr.

"Well, thank you…" she flushed slightly. Sparkle wasn't used to such compliments. "I…I need to get going. It's safest to disappear while the parking lot is still busy."

"It is." Erik agreed.

"Have a nice evening." Sparkle nodded to them before waving to slow a creeping vehicle and starting towards her car.

"C'mon, Hank." Raven grabbed one massive, blue arm. "Let's go look at your new _kerchief_." she tugged on his elbow as Erik led Charles across the parking lot.

* * *

The mystery of Hank's supposed kerchief was solved. Sparkle had cleverly disguised a patch of tattooed skin in the box. Charles could rest easy knowing they now had something of a lead. Upon further cleanup and analysis of news reports announcing Emma and Angel's death, they found the images matched. An evenly colored red and blue bird sporting the initials FOH was at every crime scene, on every victim.

It made Charles' skin crawl. The avian image was like a bird of prey and an observer. _We are watching_, it seemed to say, _we see you_. He wasn't sure if his shooter was a member of that group, but agreed with Erik that answers could be found there. If they knew of how to find and infiltrate the group, that was.

Charles couldn't bring himself to ponder missing pieces of the mystery. Not when he was cocooned in warmth by the study's fire. No, it was time to relax. His monstrous hangover was dead and he was pleasantly relaxed. It was a time solely for him and his comfort.

No taxing, annoying thoughts aloud. _Well, maybe one_…Charles admitted to himself. He was still trying to discern the reason for Erik's obvious interference with Moira and Platt's van. Erik didn't like the government – that was a given – but, as agents of the government, they had hardly provoked him! Moira and Platt kept their badges mostly concealed, with the exception of helping Hank get inside.

It made no damn sense! Charles stretched out his shoed feet, enjoying the _pop_! in the small of his back. The wooden logs crackled, interrupting another dozing spell. "Raven—Charles jumped, making Erik smile—wanted me to remind you to hang up your suit. She doesn't want it getting wrinkled." Erik leaned against the doorway, free of his eveningwear. He was dressed in a tight-fitting white night shirt and gray cotton pants.

"Why couldn't she tell me?" Charles rolled his head slightly as Erik approached, fixing himself a _real _drink. That champagne was bitter and meant for weaker people.

"Because she's in the lab teasing Hank about his escort. Apparently she has a knack for telling when people are smitten."

"Oh, she does." Charles nodded in confirmation. "Her mutation, and the ever-wondering mind she possesses, is an unhealthily informative mix where the human psyche is concerned. She once wrote a term paper on how the male mind acts around women of varying attractiveness."

"And how did she do?"

"Passed with an _A_. People are like fashion to Raven. She knows them very well. It's quite scary, really."

"I suppose that's why I knew how to handle you." Erik chuckled after a nice, burning swallow of vodka.

"Oh? Do tell, friend. This I _have_ to hear." Charles grinned as he eased his shoes off and snuggled into the chair. He could hear Erik moving around behind him. Erik chose to stay near the drinks, needing liquid courage to continue. A reason to keep his back turned and hide a creeping blush was also a motive.

"Well, what I really got out of it is the reason women hate you. Why they want to make their children with you, rather."

"I beg your pardon?" Charles sat up and turned so quickly that his neck popped. Erik gave a gravelly, rumbling chuckle. His lips returned to the shot glass, biting it just slightly. A shiver ran through Charles at the sight of those sharp, white teeth.

"She said those full lips and girlish lashes were quite enviable among the female populous. Raven did mention, of course, that you were easy to tease." Charles snorted, turning back to face the fire. Erik didn't need to see him blush. That would only intensify the teasing. Another round of jovial laughing filled the serene room. Charles mapped Erik's movement with his ears, tracing his footsteps as he approached the chair.

"That's my favorite thing about you, I think." Erik set the empty shot glass on the table stacked with books and the lone chess set. He was observing his handiwork. Charles never ceased to amaze him. Slightly undone from his usual properness, Charles was a wonder to behold. His pale, dewy skin was tinted by the firelight.

Red, gold, and orange accents lit his blue eyes. They sparkled like polished sapphires, holding a peace and innocence that Erik doubted could be present in the bigoted race that was humanity. His tux was totally unbuttoned, and his undershirt was barely undone. Two buttons was enough for Erik. For now, at least.

He now knew that Charles was evenly ivory beneath his collarbone. Erik also suspected that he was naturally hairless on the chest, too. It suited Charles, that idea. The suspicion kept Charles Xavier soft in his mind. Continuously pale, smooth, and perfect.

Erik felt his mouth run dry, his body heat, at the sight of Charles. He was perfectly teasing, and perfectly unaware. And still deserved some sort of comeuppance for ignoring him. Lehnsherr then got a very wickedly pleasant idea that would sate his desire to explore and teach Charles a lesson. He breezes casually behind the armchair.

"You like teasing me?" Charles folded his arms across his chest. That didn't totally surprise him. Erik was quiet, but when he warmed up to someone he was pleasantly prodding. _Oh god, no. Wrong phrase…_Charles refrained from shaking his head. His way of being a friend consisted of good-natured teasing with that deep, raspy, coarse, _lovely_ voice.

"Actually—Charles shivered at Erik's hot breath against the shell of his ear—I like watching you _squirm_." there was no word capable of describing the delight Erik felt. He saw Charles' socked feet wiggle. Was the man curling his toes? Erik hoped so.

"Well, do you like disappointing me? That's what you did tonight." lied Charles. He had to think of something – _anything_ – that would keep his voice from cracking. His breath from hitching. Raven always said his parenting instincts were spot-on. Strong, just like his intuition and unconscious ability to finish peoples' train of thought.

Erik chuckled, not swayed by the tactic. "You weren't disappointed. You smiled." reminded the German. He blew into Charles' ear, ruffling a curl just for the hell of it.

"It still wasn't right, what you did." Charles pointed out.

"It was to me." Erik shrugged. "I was employed to look out for you. That's what I was doing. My job is to keep you safe. Part of that entails protecting you from shady women."

"Moira is hardly shady." defended Charles. "_You _just don't like her."

"Exactly." Erik nodded. He wasn't afraid to admit it. "And I have more experience with people. You should trust my judgment."

"'Judgment' and 'jealousy' are not synonyms, my friend." teased Charles. Erik couldn't sneer at the jest. It was impossible when Charles gave him that crooked victor's smile.

"But 'pain' and 'pleasure' are." Erik skirted his fingers across Charles' auburn locks before moving one strong, callused hand down his shoulder. The muscles bunched in surprise, but relaxed at the gentle squeeze draining the tension from him. He rubbed an undone button between his fingers, able to feel Charles' thundering heart against his curled hand. It was the positive sign Erik had been looking for, one he didn't know he needed. Erik hadn't craved anyone like Charles Xavier until the man woke up dusty memories of what it was like to be loved.

Just loved. Not desired for his body. There was an addictive simplicity to Charles and his kindness. One Erik needed to smooth out his coarse edges and soften his bitterness. Xavier wanted nothing more than to be loved, just like Erik.

Charles didn't want to be loved for his money. Didn't want to be praised for his brilliance. He wanted someone to love _him_. Erik found that entirely too easy to do. Just to feel Charles jump, to hear him make a half-choked noise, Erik nipped his ear as one rough fingertip ventured curiously down the exposed patch of smooth flesh.

Soft, just like he imagined. Charles jumped up, beet red. He rubbed is ear furiously, mumbling incoherently while trying to straighten his tux with the other. Erik planted his elbows into the chair, icy eyes dancing with dying firelight. Trying to smirk innocently was basically impossible with his abundance of sharp, shark-like teeth.

The resulting expression was nothing short of playful and possessive. It was a smoldering look that had Charles heated to the core. His heart rate climbed into tachycardia territory as Lehnsherr stood before him. "That's the only warning you get, Charles. Do not ignore me again." Erik blew in his ear as he passed, just to watch him flinch and curl his toes.

"I…I didn't know you wanted my attention!"

"Good lord, Charles! Are you daft? Had I been more forward, I would've scared you off!"

"Or yourself. You're not exactly expressive." Charles grinned.

"I am." Erik corrected him. "The emotions just have to build. I feel strongly, Charles. Little else. Now, I suggest you do as Raven wants before I visit a second time and _show _you." Erik walked out with a smirk. Charles was left rubbing his bitten ear and burning with a deep blush.

What else would Erik do to him before this mystery was solved?


End file.
